Auld Alliance - a romantic history
by Lichtherz
Summary: Beginning from their first meeting as they were kids to.. to the future, 21st century at least C: Contains lot of fluff, but also smut chapters. I will keep it M, since it contains smut and I cannot change the rating for individual chapters here.
1. Prologue

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T … might turn into M later, I don't know yet.

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Whateverhisnameis (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll just name him in this story.. you will get to know early enough P:

A boring evening of the cold december, a child stands on the window. Beyond the window, the snow masses were tosses and whirled around by the wind like crazy. The blonde and not-so-young child stared in amazement at the natural event, though it had seen such things a dozen times. But at this time, something was going to happen for sure. This snow storm might as well destroy the scottish castle they all were in. Someone will die this night, so the child, a boy by the optic age of 4, thought. Call it pessimism, that child was still utterly bored, but waited for something to happen.. and the snow might bring it.  
Back in the pre-medieval time, snowstorms were a much more serious thing. In the 21st century, you could grab a book or turn on tv. If the tv didn't work you could try and entertain yourself with some DvD. The people back there didn't know such things. There was hardly any music or instruments. Or books.  
"Whit urr ye goupin' at?", an annoyed tone demanded.  
The child turned it's head and stared back "Quoi?"(What?)  
The boy looked up at an older boy, with wild red hair and piercing green eyes. When one would look at the redhaired boy, one would immediately think of a fox who is either amused by a sly thought or angry with trouble.  
The blonde however didn't understand the older one, since he'd been only a guest in this castle. He came all the way from France to visit Scotland with his king. The blonde boy was France, one of those children that were destinied to represent a nation and thus also help with international affairs, such as wars and alliances and something in between. France wasn't stupid. He had learned latin from his father, thus knew a bit of italian, spoke mainly french and just had started to learn german. It was not only necessary to be able to talk to the neighbourhood regions and nations, but also something to waste time – of which nations had a lot of. They aged more slowly than ordinary human beings. With roughly 300 years, France still had the appearance of a small child, the appearance of an angel with light blue eyes and blonde hair that framed his face in soft curls.

"Whit urr ye goupin' at?", the older boy repeated, obviously annoyed that the guest at his home didn't seem to understand him. Also, he was bored in this evening, so he had decided to entertain himself with this little boy. The older boy represented Scotland, but also had other names, such as Alba and Caledonia. This came due to that various tribes had settled in Scotland, some coming from the areas of which scotland's siblings had 'settled', Ireland and Wales. England wasn't formed back at this time. Scotland was an old land, with many traditions. Being so far in the north sure brought it's hardships. Soon, the redhaired boy had to learn how to fight and ride a horse. There was no time for childhood.  
"Je ne comprends pas. (I don't understand you)", the blonde replied helplessly.

"…come wi' me.", Scotland demanded and already turned to go. Seeing that the younger nation didn't follow, he stepped back, and offered his hand – with a much more annoyed look on his face.  
France first frowned, then took the cool hand and walked with Scotland through the corridors and rooms of the castle. Almost everywhere you could feel the chilly nordic wind through the walls and doorframes. Here and there, Scotland said something to the boy, explaining something or telling a little story over an object.. something that had happened earlier at this or that place. The little french boy hardly understood something, but grinned and eventually laughed because of the funny scottish language. At least the blonde boy found it funny. And the more Alba made a strained look, the more France laughed.

Finally they had reached the kitchen. A fire was on the hearth, but no one else in the room appearantly. Alba took an apple from a bowel and gave it to France.  
"Mmh… c'est un pomme. (this is an apple)", France explained.  
"Whit?"  
"Pomme.", France pointed determined to the apple.  
"A…apple. .. Pomme?", Alba frowned. Was that the word for it? It had to be.  
France repeated the scottish word and laughed.  
Alba got an idea and picked up an onion that was lying around. "Onion.", he proudly exclaimed.  
"Oignon.", France replied. The word was almost the same!  
The two boys continued picking up items of food or to prepared the food and compared the words they had for it. It was a sheer joy, yet something so simple!  
They stopped their game only because they got really hungry. They had found some left-overs and helped themselves. France talked to Scotland during their meal. And even though Scotland might have not understood a word, he made an important face.. which somehow gave them all a meaning. France suddenly had an idea.  
The blonde picked up a stick which was blackened by the fire that was on the hearth. He wrote french words on the ground before the fire just so that they were visible. France had picked the most easy words, and also those that were of most use like 'Bonjour'(good day), 'Au revoir' (goodbye), 'merci' (thank you) and a lot of other. Also question-words. He didn't know how to ask Scotland for to write down or at least say the scottish counterpart but eventually the green eyes lit up in understandment and the redhaired helped the younger boy a bit into his language. They repeated the words they had learned.  
No one knows how many hours they had spent sitting before the fire until a servant came and ordered them to go to bed. Since Alba found that France was too little to sleep alone in the guest room, he simply took him to his own room in the castle. They still spend a long time chatting and exchanging words, before they finally closed their eyes and dozed away.

Liked my short fanfiction? ..eh, it's still.. I used a few words too much I guess.  
But if you liked it, I might as well write more parts.. on how they grew up together, more or less.


	2. Chapter 1

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T … might turn into M later, I don't know yet.

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Whateverhisnameis (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll just name him in this story.. you will get to know early enough P:

_

Roughly a hundred years have passed since France and Scotland have first met. They have grown to somewhat be friends. Also, Scotland had gotten a new baby brother: England, or Arthur Kirkland as his human name was.  
Besides stepping more and more into their roles as nations, they both took care of England as the young nation lived in between them. England himself might have taken all of this as bullying.

"Nooge."  
"That's 'nuage', you silly scott. It means cloud. I didn't think it would take that long to teach you french.", Francis said and raised his eyebrow in slight anger.  
" It's nae mah fault yer leid is sae damn hard tae learn."  
Both of them were sitting on top of some rocks near a loch (a lake) and had some picknick with language lessons. France insisted on Scotland learning his language. Or even bits of it. Now that the weather here wasn't the best at most times, the blonde had decided to teach the older nation 'weather words'. They both had grown a good lot in the last few decades. Scotland had the look of a 15 or 16 year old while France looked approximately 4 years younger and wore mostly that blue tunic. Scott had laughed as he had first seen this 'dress' which only made France fume and explaining with a hint of drama that it is a tunic. Scotland on the other hand wore simple things such as boots, pants, a shorter tunic which had the characteristics of a jacket, and a cloak over all of this. The redhaired lad prefered more decent colours too and Francis was unable to talk him into wearing a longer tunic. Unlike Arthur, the older brother could not be easily talked into anything. Soon it showed how stubborn the young scotsman was. Still, Francis never gave up on him. He could have looked for other nations to befriend. Some of which he could influence easier, but there was something about Scotland the frenchman could not explain. Perhaps the vivid red hair…

Soon they were interrupted by a Messenger that came from the castle in Perth, where the royals of Scotland resided. The two nations were to come immediately, since also the King of France had come there. The true reason was a secret that not even the messenger knew or liked to share.  
The two young nations however respected the wishes of their kings and packed their picknick. Actually it had been a good timing since it was starting to rain again.  
"We will be all wet before we arrive the castle.", Francis whined.  
Scotland just chuckled and folded his cloak over Francis and himself.

In spite all of this time, Scotland had never told his human name to Francis. The blonde wondered if the name was somewhat stupid.. or something. Not even by chance he got to know the real name.  
As the two of them arrived at the castle they were semi-wet, mostly from where the cloak didn't protect both of them. There was just enough time for them to change their clothes. Since France hadn't brought anything, Scott had to share his garments.

"Finally you are here. We have good news.", the french king began.  
"Aye, we were discussing things and.. the two of you do have a good relationship, don't you?", the scottish king asked.  
The children looked puzzled at their monarchs.  
"What is this all about?", Francis asked and felt stupid for asking. On the other hand he really wished to know and he was growing impatient.  
"Scotland's king and me have planned that the two of you will have an Alliance. The scottish-french Alliance! It will not only include trading… we already have that, but also military. In case someone attacks scotland.. for example england, then you will come to his aid. And when you are in trouble, scotland will have to come to your aid. Chances are really high that England will attack one of us. It might be even today.. or tomorrow. So we have to be sure. Together we are invincible!", the french king explained victoriously.

"Norway and his king will also join this Alliance, they just cannot make it here in such a short time.", the scottish king said.  
"Are you two okay with this? It means that you will get married. You still seem so young.. yet I know that you are way older than you look, so I don't see any problem."

Francis was shocked. He had only seen a friend in Scotland up until now. He never thought he'd be married to… /this/? Speechless and flustered he looked to the older nation who returned his gaze, but seemed more confident about this. Then he felt Scott grabbing his hand.  
"It'd be.. an honour…", Francis murmured.

_  
The contract of the alliance was settled way quicker than the actual marriage, since it had to be planned thoroughly. The place, the guests, the clothes of all participants, the food… After three months it was ready. And each month both of the main characters of this event grew more excited and nervous. In the last month they weren't even allowed to see each other anymore.  
The kings had also planned a little further. They had organised a little house in the north of France, since the climate should appeal both nations. Also, they could raise a little farm with sheep and perhaps other animals. A forest with a lake was also nearby. In case they wanted, they could as well move over to Scotland after a while, and also they would be informed via messengers if anything happened. Yet, they were to small to really join the battlefield as soldiers.

The wedding itself was a sunny day. All the siblings of both families had come. Ireland, Wales and England for the 'grooms' side and Spain, the Italy twins – still baby-nations, the Holy Roman Empire…. Actually, Greece and Egypt were also invited, but they had to decline for different reasons. In short, it was the children of Rome who were France's half-siblings, since Rome had invaded a lot of ancient nations and a lot of people still remembered that time. Also an albino boy had come as he had claimed to be in the same family as the Holy Roman Empire…

Scotland was early at the beautiful church of Perth. He waited in one of the back rooms and kept organising what he wore and what he had to say. He was nervous, and as along as no one looked, he showed it too. The outfit he wore was designed by his fiancée… that fiancée was France after all – a nation known for fashion and style. And perhaps it would also be the only time Scott would wear something made by his soon-to-be husband. On the other hand it didn't look bad. It was a plain white shirt with extended sleeves. Additional to that he wore midnight black pants and black boots on there. Then, he was wearing something like a belt in red and yellow – the colours of his crest. As to complete the outfit he wore a black and yellow cape and a hat that also represented the colours and symbols of his crest. Slightly, the redhead wondered if his mother would show up during the ceremony. They were considered dead but it happened that ancient nations would appear from time to time. He would sure give something if Britannia could see him on this day…

France, who was preparing himself in a room in a smaller Castle of Perth, was fighting not only with his dress but also he was so nervous he had already thrown up that day. He was still very young in his mind and hardly could think of anything that could calm himself down. He was marrying Scotland after all! That handsome face, beautiful hair.. and so many things more! Stressed he chewed on a mint leaf, to make sure he would not smell bad. He laid the dress he would wear before him, also to calm down, if it was possible. Just like a manual he checked from the headpiece to the shoes if everything was okay before he would wear it. Still he could make changes or cut off a stray thread. He would wear a white smaller hat with golden patterns on there and a few dark blue veils as an accent and a larger white veil to round it up. Then there was the main dress… a dark blue dress with white layers of fabric that bear golden pattern – the pattern show the heraldic symbols of France. As accessoiries he would have a white ribbon holding his hair together and white shoes that would be hardly visible sinde the hem of the dress reachs the floor.  
Nothing to be ashamed of, France finally thought and got dressed. He didn't know wether he was late or not. Also, he didn't even think that one of his parents might come this day. But he certainly did not wish for Rome to come.

Wether Francis wanted or not, Rome insisted on bringing his oldest son (in my canon Fran is oldest) to the altar. Rome was of course not christian or catholic, but the ceremony did not change that much, appearantly. One positive thing was about it: Rome distracted Francis so much, he wasn't nervous anymore.

The priest, a higher ranking bishop since it was a nations marriage, began the ceremony, as everyone was present and ready for it. To the couple who was going to get married, the whole scenery seemed endlessly, until the bishop finally came to the point in which he would take their vows.  
"Will you, Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland, Kingdom of Scotland, take the here present Francis Bonnefoy, Kingdom of France, as your lawful wedded alliance partner, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto plight him thy troth, so say 'I do'.", the bishop ordered.  
"Ah dae."  
"And will you, Francis Bonnefoy, Kingdom of France, take the here present, Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland, Kingdom of Scotland, as your lawful wedded alliance partner, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto plight him thy troth, so say 'I do'."  
"I do.", Francis replied.  
As this was settled, they could exchange their rings. By 21st century standarts they might be regarded as poorly smithed. They were not filigrane and nor did they bear any gems. In the early medieval ages it was fair enough for wedding rings.  
The sealing kiss was also more or less the first one for both nations. It was a step further into adulthood.

_  
After the married couple left the church, the celebrations could begin. All guests, next to the family of the couple there was also aristocrats of France and Scotland – at least those that were able to make it.  
There was a huge banquet. Enough for everyone to eat and drink. And there was music and jesters.  
Beside the duties of newly wed alliance partners such as having the first dance together, Scotland spend more time with his siblings than with France for some reason. But Francis understood, he didn't say anything, because he knew that once they were in Normandy, Alasdair won't have the time anymore to see them as much.  
I will have him around me all the time, when we are over there, Francis thought and shifted his gaze towards the the feast. Everyone was so happy. Rome had disappeared by the time again… And it was rare to see so many different nations together. Altogether, the french lad was relieved that everything went so smooth after all. It was like he had the worst of his life behind him. Worst? The ceremony that was chaining him to Scotland? …well, not that fact, but the ceremony itself was.. just strange. And the bishop was also creepy in the eyes of the young France.

Alasdair in the meantime was taking care of his young siblings. England was still a baby. And Éire (Ireland) and Cymru (Wales), as he called them, were roughly in France's age. They asked him all kinds of questions how it was to get married.  
Scotland wasn't too happy that the Alliance was against the youngest of his brothers. Sure, he had fun picking on the little one from time to time because it was hilarious how Arthur fumed. But ready for war against him? Never! England was still a baby after all.

The people celebrated until nightfall. The younger nations were taken to various castles and houses in Perth. Alasdair and Francis actually were also very tired, but remained as the last two of the younger ones standing.  
"Everything is prepared, I heard.", a servant told them and lead them to a chariot. "This will lead you to the Normandy… or at least to the channel and then to normandy, where your housing is."

The ride through the night was mysterious. Everywhere seemed to lurk something. Yet, there was fireflies here and there.. or perhaps they were fairies. Scotland was connected to these magical entities as well after all. As they embarked the boat, Alasdair could have sworn that he had seen a middle-aged woman standing a few yards away.. with long flowing red hair. It must have been Britannia! The boy stared at her for a long time as the boat moved away from the island with the help of the gently rocking waves.  
Most of the time of the travel to Normandy, the two were asleep. Saving energy for the very last of the wedding… or just being tired and not able to wait for the bed. In christian beliefs, and they were both catholic, a marriage is truly sealed when the couple has a sexual intercourse. Actually not sure if it is the same with nations – especially two male nations together. But at least it is a tradition…

There was a lantern in the house lit, so there was no way of missing it in the darkness of the night. Without electricity the night really is pitch black after all. And this was way off any city, only a smaller village was nearby.  
Servants had brought Francis' and Alasdairs belongings, such as clothes, other items and even Alasdairs favourite horse already to the house. The base of the house was made from stones and held a living room with a fireplace, a kitchen combined with a dining room and of course the entrance with stairs that led to the first floor. The location of the first floor could be guessed from outside because it was gloved in wooden planks – enough layers of wooden planks so that inside no one would freeze in the wintertime. The first floor held a bedroom with a king sized bed, a guest room which could also be used as a hobby room, and a lavatory. The nations would carry the chests with their belongs upstairs on the next day. For now they only picked up the lantern and made their way upstairs.

"It is… kind of eerie, being like this. .. I mean.. we were alone before, but .. it was different.", Francis murmured, getting rid of his clothes but hesitating with his undergarments. As a husband, Alasdair was allowed to see him completely naked, wasn't he? Francis wasn't as carefree as he would be later in his life.  
"Wur merrit.", Alasdair dryly replied and also got undressed, but he snug into the large bed, before Francis could see anything and blew out the candle that was inside the lantern.  
"Come 'ere…"

Well… you might say, that it is totally not acceptable, that they have sex, since their bodies are underage and whatnot. But either there is arguments that say that it is okay.. then again you can say that they waited until they were of age and cuddled until then instead of it. I tried my best to write it just so that it is up to you. Also, you can read about Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. They spend 7 years just for this 'event'. They were married in a church and all, but they didn't finish, because they had no (successful) sex.  
Also.. back in those times, children were not as isolated from sex and violence as they are today. They were regarded just like … mini-adults.


	3. Chapter 2

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T … might turn into M later, I don't know yet.

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Everything felt warm. Warm and secure. He could hear the steady heartbeat of his new husband and lover, but also friend as his head was lying on the bare chest of the redhead. The redhead didn't seem to mind however. Sure, this alliance was against England.. but it would have been wrong to blame Francis either, since he was young. And perhaps there would be no fight.  
"Moarn, wee prince.", said Alasdair who noticed that the blonde was awake.  
"Bonjour.. .. what does 'wee' mean?"  
"It's… it's 'little' in Sassenach. 'n' 'petit' in yer leid. A 'petit prince'.", Alasdair tilted his head and had a light blush on his cheeks.  
"I like that nickname… though I am nothing like a prince.", Francis not really wanted to get up and escape from the warmth and security. It was surprising how soon he got used to it, but appearantly he was just accostumed to easily fall in love.

"Ah'm getting hungert. . 'n' we aye huv tae sort oor stuff…", Alasdair grumbled and shove Francis as nice as it was possible from his chest. At least the blonde got a good view onto his lover, and noticed that there was many scars on the smooth white skin the redhaired called his own.  
"Mmmh.. Ouai (yeah).", France murmured and also got up. He was naked as well but didn't care as much anymore. They were married after all – and no one would come to their place yet. Downstairs the chests with their belongings awaited, along with a chest with the wedding gifts.  
"Oh, gifts.. . I wonder what it is."  
"Hopefully something tae sloch, fur ah cannae cook."  
"I can … but not without supplies. .. Ah, there's.. pots.. and pans.. And leftovers from the wedding meal appearantly."  
"Let's git dressed foremaist however… ah mean. It's aye kind o' haunless bein' naked a' th' time."  
Francis dressed in his usual blue tunic he found quickly in his chest. Scotland just dressed in pants casually and found it warm enough to be topless. He was more south than ever in his life before and had to get used to the climate. All the time he had been in the north of an island, so this was very different.

So after getting dressed they just sat together and ate what they had found. A bit of salade, meat, some vegetables… there was more cakes and cookies awaiting.  
"I wonder if my siblings got home well.", France thought out loud. They lived far spread over the continent after all. It was still a miracle they all had gotten together.  
"Mines tae."  
"…you took all the cookies, Scotty.", Francis giggled.  
"Oh clammup.", Alasdair said and bit into one.  
"I might bake you cookies if you like, too."  
"Ye kin bake biscuits? … kin ah mairie ye?", the redhead joked. Francis just laughed, though the joke wasn't really brilliant. But Scotland was glad since he liked the other male's laughter. At least the happy one and this was a happy one. By time he had experienced to many kinds of laughters that France was able to make, even more badass ones when England appeared.

"By th' way… huv ye ever thought o' fightin'? . Lik'. Using a sword?", Alasdair casually asked as he lifted France's chest, after their meal.  
"N-no .. . Alasdair, this chest must be heavy! Let me help carrying it!", Francis squeaked, simply amazed by how the taller boy lifted the chest with appearantly no problem!  
"Then ah shuid teach ye howfur tae wield a sword.", the scotsboy offered, completely ignoring the poor attempt of the blonde to help him with the chest.  
"We wull start…in twa days. We huv tae check th' environment. Ah mean. Whit's aroond us. Yesterday 'twas nicht efter a', sae ah don't ken th' coorse. Anyway, ye wull huv tae run laps. 'n' ye wull huv tae hurl weights tae."  
Alasdair grinned in dark pleasure, looking forward to see the young frenchman trying his best to become strong, most possibly running through rain and dirt.  
Francis, on the contrary, wasn't as pleased.  
"What? What do you want me to do? .. I cannot! .. I just don't want."  
"'n' ye wull raise earlie in th' day. Afore dawn."  
"Before dawn? Are you mad!"  
"Or else…no winchin' anymair."  
"Q-quoi? Non… you can't do that to me! We're fucking married!"  
"No. Kissing.", Scotland made a dead-serious face which made France whimper even more. They hadn't kissed a lot since they were married, but Francis had definetly grown to enjoy their meeting of lips and he just wanted more – just like Scotland with his cookie addiction.

What Alasdair had not expected was the determination France would build when being cornered. The tall redhead had just placed Francis' chest onto the foot-end of their bed, as the younger nation stormed outside to run a lap around their house.  
As Scott came downstairs and leaned onto the doorframe of the housedoor, he saw his husband out of breath returning.  
"Hahaha, ah dae nae mean ye tae stairt richt awa'. Forby. This track is wey tae short. Ye wull huv tae run further.", Alasdair grinned amused.  
"Wha-further?"  
"Dae nae worry. Ah said we stairt in 2 days. . Bit ye tried, 'n' deserve a winch richt noo."  
Scotland leaned down and kissed Francis gently onto his lips which made the young boy blush and return the kiss shyly.  
"Ye kin be pure determined, if yi'll waant tae … ah micht uise that in future time."

"S-so what .. will we do.. today, beside dragging those chests?", Francis walked towards Alasdairs chest and picked it up, trying to drag it upstairs to their room.  
"Ah don't ken. . Mibbie checking th' steid 'n' mibbie we kin even gang tae that village thay talked aboot. Dae we huv dosh?", Alasdair took the other side of the chest and picked it up so they both carried it, upstairs and onto the foot-end of their bed.  
"Mmh.. Écosse?"  
"Aye?"  
"What's 'I love you' in your language?"  
"That's a glaikit question… ye juist said it."  
"Non, in /your/ language."  
"… … Tha gra'dh agam ort.", Alasdair blushed and looked away.  
"Tha gra'dh agam ort, Alba.", Francis tried, trying to earn a bit of charm.  
"… Je t'aime? .. that's…whit ye say in yer leid, don't ye?„  
"Oui. .. and I like it when you speak french.", needless to say that Alasdair put a thick accent into the french words.

_  
A few days later, they were further. Francis had as well thought about them going to hunt or to fish, since Scotland knew how to do those two things and France didn't. In fact they completed each other in a very beautiful way. When Scotland wasn't able to do something, France could do it. And the other way around. Among this, it somehow also came clear that France took part of the female things which in turn made Alba say, that he might rather be a 'wee princess' instead of a prince. In the same time, France gave Alba a nickname, he was the 'petit renard', since he was as sly looking and playful as a fox in his youth.

"Today's subject is… 'how dae ah hurl a horse'. Ah won't let ye hurl mines, as ye wull see, bit ye kin uise th' donkey we brought frae th' marketplace. Noo, huv a go tae keep yersel' oan his back wi'oot falling richt away."  
Alasdair stepped forward and placed France onto the back of 'hempy' as they had named the donkey – a wild one, as translated.  
First, France had no real problems just sitting there.  
"And what now?"  
"Sit straecht, heels doon, tip up… 'n' nudge onto his sides. Juist nudging. Bein' tae hard wull hurt him.", Scotland commanded.

France tried his best and got excited, when the donkey began to move beneath his butt.  
"It… it walks! It walks! What do I do now! .. How do I steer?"  
"Ye huv tae lean towards th' site yi'll waant tae gang. …if we wantae raise an Aberdonian`s burd, ye better learn howfur tae hurl weel."  
"Oooh… it's.. it feels so cool!", France chirped.  
"Ahaha, it wull be cooler wance ah stressed Hempy. Ah wull mak' him stoat 'n' ye wull huv tae learn tae haud oan tae him."  
"Oh non. Don't do that. .. Please, I will be extra-good."  
"Aye, ye wull. Wance a'm dane wi' ye.", Scotland chuckled.  
"Ah, forget it. I'll quit!", France grunted and hopped off the donkey, just to walk back into the house.  
"France!"  
Feeling mocked by the horse and the donkey who stared at Alasdair, the redhead followed the deserter and got him before he reached the house.  
"France…I wid huv dane that ainlie in a few da… weeks mibbie! whin ye wid huv learned howfur tae deal wi' a horse."  
Francis just stared at the older one in disbelief.  
"Come on… uh. Howfur aboot ah juist tak' ye oan mah horse fur wance. I'll shaw ye something thare, then. Okay? Come…"  
The little frenchman led the older one lead him to Ahearn, the elegant horse of the scotsman. France had forgotten what the name meant, but he liked the animal on which he just got placed. Alasdair sat on the horse behind him and took the bridles.  
He rode in a half-circle, just to have enough of space, and then commanded the horse to run in full gallop.  
Soon, the two nations flew across the land, set over on the fences and over smaller rocks and branches that were lying around – yet mostly it was open field. First, Francis was too scared to even open his eyes, but as he did, he was astonished. It really was like flying! It was nothing compared to the chariots Francis had been driving in before.  
"I-it's amazing!"  
"Aye. And ye see? hee haw ill aboot it."

Alasdair led the horse back to the donkey and their house, or better: their training area. The scottish stopped his horse and helped down his husband. The husband in the meantime was still thrilled by the feeling of the rush and found it a good idea to take off saddle and bridle from Hempy to get a better feeling for the 'horse' once he'd sit on there.  
Before Alasdair could interfer, Francis sat on Hempy and continued his schooling on how to ride. But after a while a bee or some other insect came and made the donkey so nervous, it began to rear up and toss around. Some time it appeared that the child on the donkey's back would be thrown off, but Francis tried to hold himself onto the mane.  
Cussing wildly, Scotland stormed in front of the donkey and tried to get a grip of the animal to calm it down, which eventualy worked. "Gang doon."  
He didn't need to tell Francis twice. The blonde boy slipped of the donkey, slightly shocked but also annoyed because it didn't work as he had wished.  
Alba let the donkey walk off and turned towards France.

" Sae, you're scared o' wild dugs? th' same fear ye shuid cop towards th' power o' a horse – or a donkey! whit if ye hud fallen doon 'n' be squished by it! It … okay, it cuid huv nae murdurred ye, bit hurt ye badly! dae ye huv ony idea whit a goosed bane feels lik'? ah tell ye, it pumpin' hurts lik' jobby! ye ne'er ever sit oan a horse wi'oot bridle 'n' saddle! is that understood?"  
"…. Yes.", the french boy snarled, glaring just as much as the redhead before him.  
Then Francis just looked away and walked inside the house. It was their first real fight. Then again, France was more angry at himself. Why had he been so stupid and had to remove the tools to control a horse? He had been so cocky about the whole thing…Yet, this was the first day he had ever ridden a horse. He had no fucking clue!

After a while, Alba came following him into the house, into the living room where Francis sat.  
"… K… Keek, a'm sorry … fur shouting at ye. 'twas nae richt. Bit an' a', ah wis. Ye cuid huv gotten hurt, ye ken?", Alasdair stammered, still emotional about the accident.  
"No! … Just.. no. .. It was my fault. I shouldn't have done this. I should be the one to apologise! I .. I just wanted to be as cool as you are … all the time.", tears came to Francis eyes as he talked. He couldn't stop them as much as he wished to remain under control.  
"Shhh… Ah think wur baith messed up…", Alasdair murmured and came close to France, hugging him in comfort. At times like these they noticed, how childish they still were. Already over hundreds of years old they hardly seemed to have learnt anything.  
"I'm sorry, Alasdair… I will listen to you more in future time.", the younger one claimed.  
"Oh.. pure? .. mmh.. Je t'aime, wee prince."  
"Tha gra'dh agam ort more."  
Feeling much better now, Francis stole another kiss from Scotland.  
By now they also had started the real training. The morning marathon was still hardship for Francis and they needed to take a long break afterwards, but it sure gave enough for France to deserve kisses for the rest of the day.

"Are you hungry?", France changed the subject, since everything seemed ready for it.  
"Ah…", Alba's belly rumbled just as to answer for him.  
Giggling, Francis helped his husband to get up from the couch and both went into the kitchen.  
The kitchen was quite comfortable. There was a sideboard with stools on which someone could prepare food as it was right next to the worktop, and as well could just watch the chef by his preparings for dinner – Then there was a stove and an oven. And numerous cupboards and hooks to hang up pans and paraphernalia for to make all kinds of food. Really, there was nothing a chef from the medieval time could wish more for.  
"Kin ah hulp ye?"  
"Ugh… let me see. .. I am going to make a Quiche classique. I have prepared the dough some time ago. You can put it into this form.", Francis picked out a larger round form, a tarte form.  
"But woe you, when you eat from the dough! Or else you can cut the bacon into cubes."  
Just to be sure, Francis just gave Alasdair a knife, a board and the bacon. In the meantime he prepared the dough himself, since the dough had to pre-bake in the form. The fire from the oven soon warmed the kitchen.  
Then, Francis picked out a pan, put some butter in there and put it onto fire (all cooked/baked on real fire back in this time. Not the content of the pans/pots though), as Alasdair was done cutting the bacon.  
"You're good with the knife."  
"Aye. Juist lik' wi' th' sword. This wull be an' a' oor neist goal. Training wi' a sword."  
"I am /so/ looking forward to it…", France murmured with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

As the bacon roasted fine, France also prepared the 'sauce' that would be poured over the actual tarte. There was eggs (3 and an egg yolk) mixed with cream, beaufort cheese and some spices. The bacon was added as it was nice dark and crispy. The whole mixture was then put into the round form and put into the oven for a good time.

After Dinner they decided to go to bed. The day had been hard and.. somewhat difficult. Also, they had more than enough of plans. A little egoistic, when you think that a nation should serve their people instead of leading a life only for the own benefit. But on the other hand… Scotland would make a man out of France.

_  
Secound chapter… it could be worse.  
In my opinion, there sure are some heartwarming moments =w=""  
And I think I failed on some sentence structure.. .. I have no beta reader D':


	4. Chapter 3

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M.

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

At the next morning, there was no sun that would give them a good-morning kiss. For the first morning it was very cloudy and rained with a break of a few minutes. And since then, Francis didn't feel like doing the training at that day at all.  
"C'moan, ye sleephead. Oot o' kip."  
"But it's raining…"  
"This is juist a bawherr o' cooncil juice.", Scotland convinced.  
"That's not how you do it in France… You just don't go out when it's raining… The streets will be all muddy.", Francis pouted.

But there was no use. Alasdair mercilessly dragged the tired french boy out of the house and chased him over the muddy roads, and also into the forest. As they left the forest, something white came to the eyes of the two of them.  
"What is ... it's an egg, isn't it? What is it doing here?", Francis breathed, looking down at it, glad to have a break.  
Alasdair took a glance around, but couldn't find a nest. And he already claimed the egg to be for breakfast. Unless Francis found that it was really warm for a lost egg.  
"I bet.. there is a chick in there. If it is so, we must hurry and warm it up at home."  
So they made their way home. They didn't care as much about being wet. Scotland, because he was used to this weather and Francis, because he was distracted by the egg.  
The young blonde covered the egg into blankets and couldn't find more to do first. Also it was then that he noticed that he was freezing.

"We should …."  
"Shuid whit? huv something in mynd, wee prince?", Alasdair asked, not really caring that he was dirtying and dripping onto the carpet he was standing on.  
"You should go off that carpet first. Really Écosse, do you have an idea how much work it is to clean it? .. besides that we should actually bathe, because we're cooling down. And then wrap ourselves into something clean and dry. Still I am in the opinion that we should take a break for just one day."

And so just to fall into a break, Alasdair slyly obeyed the smaller french boy. Francis and he found a larger wooden tub which they dragged into the kitchen. Also, they prepared some towels beside the tub, and some other things such as soap, brush and washcloth. It didn't happen in those times actually that people would bathe or wash themselves at all. But when they did, they did it really.  
It was Alba's task to carry in the buckets of water, while France heated them up with the fire of the stove and poured them into the tub. Soon the air was filled with a warm and moist steam.

"Shall we drap th' egg in thare tae?", Alba asked as he got undressed beside the tub. France had also told him to place his boots close to the entrance for when everytime he'd enter the house. The french would also have to clean after him… but after they had the bathtime.  
"You really want to eat it, don't you? Aren't you curious from what bird it came? There is just one way to find it out: we breed it and then it hatchs."  
Both undressed, they slipped into the tub. Being kind of picky, Francis snatched the brush and soap right away and began to wash himself.  
"It's gey clear whit it is… it's a goose egg."  
"… Aren't they bigger? It has the size of a chicken egg."  
"Thare ye git it: it's a chicken egg. Kin we sloch it noo?"  
"Why do you keep thinking of food all the time?"  
"Fur it's a'maist noon 'n' ah haven't hud ony breakfast yet…", Alba grunted, sending an angry look at France. "Someone hud tae fin' an egg 'n' then stairt a bathing session."

"Ugh… I know…but I can't feel sorry about it.", France gave the egg a sad look. He was dying to know what was inside. Even if it was a chicken egg.. it would soon hatch. And if it was a hen, they could have eggs all day. Concluding this, Francis shared his thought with his husband.  
"And eggs mean biscuits!", the blonde solemnly explained.  
"Let's breed th' egg. … bit aye, whit shall we huv fur breakfast? we hardly huv anythin' in hain anymair. We need tae visit that village again. . Bit nae th'day. Ah gree that we don't wantae huv th' grocery's getting drookit."  
"Yea..", France also pointed out in his thoughts that they could purchase some chickens. They still had a lot of money and still they didn't have any sheep. They needed to pick up some work to get money also.  
"I will see… what we can have for breakfast today. And then when we go over into the village, I think we should get us some sheep beside the grocery's. And clay. I think I could try and make some pots and plates from that which we can sell."  
"Och, this soonds stoatin. Ah bet it wull be a braw business! ilka sin a'm sure it wull tak' a while 'til we kin sell th' sheep's wool."

The blonde continued in soaping his body and also working some of the bubbles into his wet hair.  
Finding that his husband was rather inactive in the cleaning, Fran started to grab a foot of the older one and tried to clean it, but Alba squeaked and pulled away.  
"My, what a manly scream…", Francis grinned.  
"Says wha?", Alasdair retorted and began to tickle Francis who in turn squirmed and giggled and tossed a lot of water over board.  
"Wahahaha, aahhh stohohohop. Oh mon dieu. S'il te plaît… Écosse ! S'il te plaît, arrêtez ! Lachez-moi!"  
Eventually, the redhead stopped, leaving the smaller nation with a red face and close to being breathless. Captured by the moment, the older nation lowered his head to kiss the forehead of Francis. "You're cute, whin ye blush.", Alasdair murmured.  
"Oh shush… you old man…", Francis growled.  
Actually, the tub was rather small. The taller nation, Alasdair, was, when he would be sitting leaned onto one wall of the tub and stretching his legs, touching the other wall of the tub with not much effort.

"Hahaha, Ah aye win, ye wee princess.", but that grin didn't last long. France launched forward and tackled the older one, pinning him to the ground, and more or less aiming to drown him.  
"I am not a wee princess! And I will show you…"  
France was cut off by his own body. Things shifted and suddenly he felt himself growing a little bit. Height spurts were not unusual for nations, when they were still growing. But having them in the middle of the day was a bit off. So, both nations were quite surprised. France had just changed from the look of a 12 year old to the look of a 15 year old, and almost catching up with Scotland.  
"Ye… grew…", Alba said, looking astonished at the guy who was attempting to drown him just a few secounds ago. "This is amazing."  
The older one reached out to touch, but Francis flinched away.  
"Don't… don't look at me. S'il te plaît…"  
The frenchman didn't know what he looked like. At the last height spurt he had been alone. He had always been picky about his own looks.  
"Na…Hauld yer horses..Ye keek…Ye keek mair bonny noo than cute…Mair...Lik' a wifie. ", Alba got cut off again, this time by a larger foot.  
"Cut that out, how can you say that?", Francis snapped and grabbed a towel to get out of the tub and tried his best not to let Alasdair take a look at him.

The scotsman however had something else in mind, as he gripped tightly onto the ankle of the other male. He pulled him back into the tub and threw the towel away before it got wet.  
"Ye keek pumpin' sexy, ye ken that?", Alasdair whispered into Francis' ear as the blonde sat onto his lap and France knew that there was something coming up. He felt as if electricity ran down his spine and back up.  
"Écosse… I .. I feel weird.. I don't think it's a good idea.. t-to be so close…"  
The frenchman found naked cuddling pretty strange at that time.  
"There's hee haw weird aboot it. Wur merrit efter a', aren't we?"  
Alasdair moved his hands over Francis' torso, slightly caressing the small pink buds that were Francis' nipples which made the younger one moan in pleasure.  
"Feeling guid?", Alba asked with a hoarse voice, pleasing the blonde some more with his hands. France simply nodded. This was all new to him, but he didn't mind. It didn't hurt after all.  
Then he felt heat building up in between his legs as well as something poking at him from below.. which was actually supposed to be Scotland's crotch. Looking down between their legs he could see what was going on. Also, as a sidenote… back then, sex and violence was closer to all humans, no matter what status or age, but still sex education wasn't really there.. like, why worked things how they worked. And here, unlike Francis, Alasdair had seen people doing it. However, France will start to learn everything by Scotland. You could also say, that Scotland has France's virginity.

"Shh, it's a'richt. Everything… ferr normal.", Alba convinced and moved his hand onto Francis' member, gently beginning to stroke it. First startled by the very idea of Scotland touching him there, he soon gave in as he felt the sensation and some more heat building up. The volume of Frances moans rised with the intensity of which Alba worked the member of his lover. Almost as if the blonde had just become a musical instrument to the older one.  
"Oh Dieu.. Écosse… plus.. ", unknowingly, the blonde grinded slightly against the crotch of the redhead, making him moan slightly as well, and ready to enter the active mating.  
" Noo…Francis. Please don't hate me fur this, bit. Ah jalouse I'll huv tae. Hurt ye a bit… I'm sorry… sorry…"  
Alba slid his hand beneath Francis' butt and began to finger the entrance, to massage the muscles and widen him a little. If only the french wasn't so tense at the beginning. At least, he relaxed after a while.  
"What.. is this.. good for? Alasdair?", Francis breahtlessly asked, then suddenly feeling an overwhelming sensation, from where the older one was moving his hands. The younger nation moaned loudly, voice filled thick with lust and pressing himself onto Alba.  
Knowing now where he had to go, Scotland quickly exchanged his finger with his own needy erection. He pressed into the still shorter nation and tried to aim right at the spot that made France seeing stars. He knew that it had worked as the other began to scream his lust.

Now pounding mercilessly into the other, grabbing harshly the french buttcheeks and either pushing him off just to pull him faster to his lap. Just as he moved over to give Frances member some more strokes, the younger one came into his hand. And not only that, also inside, Francis tightened so much, Alasdair came into him, with a last thrust.

After some time enjoying the aftershocks, they moved away from each other, as much as it was possible, but still remaining in the tub to clean themselves.  
And also, like initially planned, they dried themselves and got to dress.. but until they got dressed, they didn't speak a word.  
"Écosse… my clothes won't fit me anymore.", Francis started, putting on the usual pout when something didn't go as he wanted.  
"Then tak' mine…"  
"Are you angry at me?"  
"Na, I'm nae. . 'n' please don't ca' me Écosse. Noo ye dae ken mah human name, don't ye?"  
"Oui.. .. and you have many of them."  
"Ah can't hulp that, noo kin ah?"  
"Non…"

Now I wrote their sex scene… like they never had something before. As in explained in the 1st chapter, the marriage is actually sealed.. just now. And I kept the chapter here as short as I could, so the ones that cannot read it (Rating: M), don't miss too much…


	5. Chapter 4

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T for Teens.

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

On this morning it had been raining. Scotland and France had been heading out for training still, and eventually found a bird on their way.  
While cleaning themselves up by having a nice tub, France grew a little and perhaps qualifies even better for sparing now. The only problem would be the clothes. The teen would need new since he wouldn't like much sharing all of Scotland's clothes.

From all that he had, Francis chose a few clothes to keep, just like he did whenever he grew a little.  
"I might have to redo some of them from time to time. .. It's.. somewhat strange to think that the garment you wear, dissolves slowing, turned into dust by the hands of time."  
"Howfur poetic.", Alasdair gave Francis' back a smug grin and hugged the nation from behind. He truly enjoyed the new size.  
"Bit cuid ye hurry? I'm aye gey hungert. Ah micht as weel sloch you…", the scotsman said with a kiss.  
"Uh, Oui.", Francis quickly checked on the clothes he wore now. They were still a bit larger than his own body size would need, which meant that Alasdair was still taller or bigger at all than him.

Their little breakfast consisted of old bread, bacon and cheese. They would have no choice but go hunting on that day. It wasn't market-day, so they couldn't go as soon as they needed something. But Francis still made a list of what they absolutely needed: flour, eggs, vegetables, .. they didn't need to buy meat. The forest around them was still full of animals; then they needed clay and fabric. And some sheep, but this was a bigger investition.

On the next day they went shopping. With the donkey and the horse they had no problem in hushing the sheep towards their place. And their saddle pockets were full of goods, so Francis was very pleased. Even if it meant a lot of work: the pottery and to tailor himself new clothes.

The next Sunday, after they went to church, Francis insisted that they visited the church every Sunday since he was a catholic nation, they found the egg hatched. But the content seemed to be gone. Only a faint chirping was to be heard.  
"It seems it has hatched. .. and I wasn't there! I will be a bad father!", Francis cried, just starting to carefully looked into each and every place. But it was Scotland who found it.  
The chick was dusty grey with a tiny yellow beak. It looked like a stone which is why France hadn't seen it first.  
"I'll call you Pierre. .. This is 'stone' in french. I wonder if it will be able to fly once it's older."  
"It wull. . If it's a goose, that is. Bit ah kind o' doubt it. Ah huv seen goose chicks 'n' this insae yin. . 'n' a chicken? Chicken babys ur yellow.", Scotland had to frown a little.  
In the end they figured, that it is a unique bird.  
They talked about how nations actually do have an official pet. A special pet that would be either a dear friend or even a protector.  
"Do you miss that monster of Loch Ness?", France asked, kind of knowing that this rumour-heavy beast had to be Alasdairs pet.  
"Nessie? . Yea. I'd lik' tae visit her some time. A'm sure ah wull see her some day again.", a light smile shadowed over his face.  
"Mmh.. How about we spend 50 years in France..and then we go to Scotland? I'd really want to see how it is to live at your place."

Scotland first didn't like the idea. Then again they still had time to think about it. The first 50 years in France had only started. Also, a bit later, they found out that Pierre was actually white. He had just been dirty as Scotland had found him.

Some more time passed. France grew stronger by the time, and Scotland also learned more french and more how to cook things more differently. It appeared that he wasn't as terrible as his youngest brother. Speaking of which they had been visiting him sometimes. Scotland insisted on visiting the little one just as much as France insisted on visiting the church. The young couple grew close and never grew tired of each other. It all seemed like a smooth dream in which everything was right.  
But every dream has it's ending. It couldn't have lasted forever.

One day a messenger came over, having a letter that made Scotland startled.  
"Wee prince? .. A'm…Feart, ah huv tae dae something ye won't lik'.", the redhead started, unsure how the younger nation would react. They both were in between their late teen years by their looks.  
"What is it? What's in that message?", Francis had just been cleaning the windows. It had been such a sweet sunny day. "Please do tell me, Alasdair!"  
"My homeland is in danger. My people… I have to go into war. .. En… no, the king of England.. is attacking it. I must go!", the scottish nation had hardly looked so desperate before.

"Then let me go with you!", Francis noticed the stress in the whole situation and put down his cleaning tools.  
"Na! I… ah don't wantae tak' ye wi' me tae war. Ah cannae!", Alasdair went past Francis, feeling more and more disturbed. He went upstairs and packed some things into a bag. The frenchman followed him to their sleeping room and looked just as worried.  
"Will you.. just go and leave me here behind? How can you ask such a thing? … What… what if you don't come back? Besides, we're alliance partners, for god's sake! Not only a married couple…actually… Do you remember the contract? If England attacks you, I have to defend you by attacking England!"  
"Bit it's nae Englain! juist his king… a'm sure it mist be a mistake! …I wull huv tae gang thare, fur tae check it oot, a'richt? hee haw wull happen 'n' ah wull come hame in yin piece. . Ah swear it!"

"…I hope you are right.", tears were in Francis eyes as he kissed his lover and husband goodbye.  
He never made it back.

Just a few years later, the king of england seeked France to be his own. The english went over the channel to attack the nation. Besides, a huge part of France was already english – the region on the southwest named 'Aquitaine'. And the english had allies as well. The reason was also moreover, that the king, Edward Plantaganet II. had french ancestors, and claimed to be the next heir of the throne of France, driving out Phillippe Valois VI..  
France first didn't believe it, until he saw England on the field of war in Caen.  
England wasn't the chubby little crybaby anymore. He sat on his horse in full armor, and looked like he was on the age of 15 or 16 – and had a very outrageous grin plastered across his face.

"Angleterre… what.. what are you doing?", France looked at the younger man with an obvious look of horror. Did it mean, the younger brother had killed the older? Had he killed Scotland?  
"My, if this isn't the french 'girl'. I am surprised to find you here. Weren't you supposed to be at home, fixing my brothers socks? Hah! But do not fear, my 'friend'. You won't have to slave anymore for him. I provided so he won't come back."  
Cold anger gripped France's heart. He wanted to fight the english down and out of his land. But every time he had a good chance, he saw the little England in front of himself. Also, it was his brother-in-law still, even if Scotland hadn't died.  
However, it was impossible for France to fight the younger nation. As for the rest of the 'soldiers' that were fighting on the side of France, they were very unorganised. The whole war had taken them unprepared. Most of them hardly had weapons.  
At the end of this battle, over 5000 french had found death. On english side it was rather unclear.

Francis himself had managed to remain alive, somewhat buried beneath the corpses of his people.  
More battles ended like this. And the french had to retreat more and more, slowly but surely loosing their land.  
At one night, after the famous battle of Agincourt, Francis sad alone and depressed in a tent. The french had somewhat organised an army, with only little weapon and armor supply. The moral was down. No one thought of winning something against the british. Kings had changed on both sides. On the english side, it was Henry V. of the house of Lancaster, while on french side, the duke of Dreux, Charles D'Albret I. – who actually was a descendant of kings, had died on that very day. The french were only left with a marshall named Jean le Maingre II.  
There had been also fairy tales lately, that a young maiden might come and end the war. But like said, these were only fairy tales. It was almost 100 years after the war had started in 1337.

Francis hadn't known that England had ever been so cruel, so full of hatred before. What was it, that he had done wrong? He had given so much love to Arthur. Always bringing some nice little gifts, always talking to him and trying to cheer him up when he had been sitting alone in the forest, crying because the boy thought his older siblings hated him.  
"What have I done wrong…?"

Then, a bush close to the tent rustled. The frenchman twitched out of his position and looked who might be there. The figure stepped out of the bushes and nearly collapsed before the tent.  
"Hey! .. Hold on, I'll help you!", France stood up quickly and tried to drag the person further into the tent, making the body lie onto the soft makeshift bed. It was so dark that the blonde could hardly see who was the man before him. But he didn't care either. Francis got out to get some fresh water. As he came back, he cleaned the wounds as good as he could. The doctors of the camp were still busy with the wounded soldiers from that battle, and Francis thought he could also do at least a little to ease the pain.

"Ouch. Ey…Noo that hurt, France!", the 'makeshift doctor' heard his patient cry out. And though the voice wasn't familiar, the tone and accent was!  
"Éc.. Alasdair? .. B-but…? Alasdair! You're alive!"  
"Barely. . Noo don't squish me. .. Please…Ah hud a solid time…", the voice broke off. It costed too much energy.  
"Arthur… he.. Arthur said he'd knew of a way to keep you from comeing here… so I didn't think… I thought you were…"  
"Deid? na. Ye ken. Ill weeds Graw lanky.", a short pause set in."…I think yi''ll need tae fix yer tent. It's dreich ben."  
It wasn't rain.  
"I'm just so.. so.. fucking happy. It's like you .. came back from the dead.", Francis sniffed.  
"It appears sae. … a' th' wey frae Scootlund tae 'ere, ainlie deid fowk. Corpses aw weys – except in Englain.", Alasdair replied grim.  
"I can't… fight him. I'm a damned coward.. .. I just can't hurt England."  
"Ah ken. . Noo a lot o' Scots died…In a mingin' wey. Ah thought, That he wid attack ye. Th' hail alliance didn't seem tae wirk as actually planned. Sae muckle ah fun oot. … bit at least ah kin bade wi' ye? if we die, we die th'gither."  
"Aye…", France replied, granting the weakened nation the chance of hearing his own language.

The next day had also been tough. In the sunlight, France could see Alasdairs injuries better and turned the man almost into a mummy.  
But they didn't have much time to remain. The english were approaching again, forcing the french people to retreat even further into their land. Alasdair had not been the only scottish that had come last night. There were also some more scotsmen, all in different status of health. They would all recover more or less. Alasdair had been able to convince them all to follow him to France. They were called later the 'garde ecossaise'. The next battle was the battle of Rouen, in which the scottish didn't participate officially, since they still had to recover and somewhat merge into the french. They had to learn to work together to really achieve something.

In the next battle of Baugé, the scottish and french fought hand in hand, as you could say – and they even won! No one really knew how many men fell on both sides, but that didn't matter as the english retreated from the field. Arthur wasn't too pleased that day. It had been a very important experience and the french soldiers felt their ego swell. Also, they figured, that the french weren't completely without a king to lead the whole thing, as the scottish king was also helping them more or less.  
Francis felt safe for once with Alasdairs power, though the redhead was still pretty much injured.  
But it didn't remain like this. It seemed now that alternatingly, the french (with the scottish) or the english won. It was like rope pulling. But the major movement of the french was still retreating. If they won, they didn't win large parts.

Then at one day, an unexpected guest showed up. A girl in the simple clothes of a farmer, the clothes of a male! And her blonde hair was short as well. As if she attempted to become a man – then again she never said she was a man. She called herself 'Jeanne D'arc' and came from a small village in Orléans. She claimed to be the Maid of the legends, who would save France. She had no armor yet, but she had a sword she claimed to have received from her saint, saint catherine.  
Francis was rather skeptical about her.

"A young girl of age 17… I know that there's these rumours about her. But I don't believe that anything she'll do is going to save me. It's only a little girl, for god's sake!"  
Scotland remained silent as he was clouded in his own thoughts. Jeanne was among them. Now.. if she was active like that, they had to protect her, didn't they? From what the girl and her companions said, they had gone through some hardship. And even though Jeanne had never learned how to fight, she had been able to kill a few english with her sword. …and that sword seemed familiar with another legend. The legend of a magical sword in england.  
"Are you even listening to me?", Francis asked, standing with a pout before the taller man.  
"Mh? . I'm sorry, ah haven't listened tae ye. ..Before we baillie her, we shuid figure oot, whit she kin dae fur us. Keek. Th' moral o' a lot o' soldier's is gaen. Ah don't care wether she is a Maid or whitevur. Whin we win, everything kin be saved."  
"Oh… I think I know what you are aiming at. It's still a big risk. She is a.. a young woman after all. We should give her some armor at least.", France decided in the end.

"Ehem… I am sorry to interrupt you. But I am afraid the next battle will soon be on. It will be about Orléans. …And we still need men to fight for us!", Jeanne claimed.  
"Then.. why don't you just go and grab some? With your looks it should be an easy task.", Francis grinned evily.  
The girl did something rather un-girly. She stepped forward and smacked the frenchman across his face! Both men just started at the girl astonished.  
"Don't you care about your people! I know what you are… who you are. It is /your/ land! Your house. Why don't you just show some euphorism in this? Everywhere in France the people are being chased off by the english. Those that aren't fast enough to flee are being raped or killed. Or both. And you… you just shove off all responsibility! You… are a shame!"  
And with these words, Jeanne stepped off, anger swinging in her motions. Francis could feel that she was right. That he should not care about England, but for his own people. His cheek was still burning.

They spend some time. There were several commanders left – Jeanne was one of them. They split and anounced in a lot of cities and villages in Orléans that the french army was looking for new soldiers. It wasn't encouraging that they were going to face death and a lot of blood. No normal thinking human, and especially no frenchman would agree on that. But the way Jeanne talked encouraged way more people. She was mostly talking about how the english were invading their land and taking everything from them. And that they had to stand up and fight against the english, to not become english and one day could live the normal and enjoyable life of a common french man. Same for the rest of the family, which most of them had.  
In the end, there was 6400 Soldiers and 4000 armed citizens ready for the battle of Orléans.

The war itself lasted about half a year.  
In the beginning, Jeanne merely asked the english to calmly take their stuff and go home.  
"What do you want? Want me to go home? I /am/ home. This is my bloody place!", Arthur shouted down from the top wall of the fortress. More englishmen were laughing.  
"This is not going well.", France murmured to Scotland.  
"Since when are you introducing women to war, frenchy?", England called out to France.  
"Who is this idiot?", Jeanne asked, turning to Francis.  
"It's England.", Francis and Alasdair replied in unison.

"Well, I do not care, if you want me in this war or not, just because I am a woman. We have warned you and you just made fun. I guess I'll have you drive you out by force then.", Jeanne announced with a harsh tone in her voice. Like she had always commanded someone.  
"Warn me? Hahahaha! Thank you, that's very nice… but no thank you. I am not in the least scared!", England spat.

The french and scottish attacked the fortress. It didn't help much. And also a few weeks later, Jeanne was hit by an arrow into her shoulder. But nonetheless, she sat back on her horse, ignoring the pain and continued her way.  
The men around here were astonished by how much determination that was in that girl. They fought even more bravely then.  
On a Sunday, may the 8th of the year 1429, the english retreated. Another victory for the french. Orléans was no longer besieged by the english!  
After this battle, a lot of french felt different about themselves and their situation. They were ready to want more. And more cities and villages shared the word that the Maid of Orléans had finally appeared to save France.  
And even France himself started to believe that she would be the one who would give hope and faith, and also the land back to french hands.

Now, a lot of people care about how Jeanne died. .. and what about her life? I know she didn't have a long life, but still :

And as for the 'he never made it back'. I wanted to draw some tension ;3 Some drama. Scotland kind of did make it back, but where is the drama, if I'd write all that is going to come.  
I know I write sometimes about… things we have in future, like electricity and flowing water, but these are only things for people to imagine how things were in the past C:


	6. Chapter 5

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M (because of Jeanne)

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Due to the french victory in Orléans, with the help of Jeanne D'arc, the Dauphin (heir of the french throne), some descendant who was also believed dead, was convinced to reclaim the throne. His name was Charles VII. and was crowned in the same year (1429) in Reims.  
More battles followed the one of Orléans: battle of the herrings with an english victory, battle of jargeau with a french victory, the battle of Meung-sur-Loire with a, french victory, battle of Beaugency with also a french victory and the battle of patay, also with french victory ended the chapter of the campaign to 'clean' the region around the Loire from english soldiers.  
Soon it was clear that the french would actually win the war, that had almost lasted a hundred years. The very idea was delighting that the english would leave french territory.  
But still, the english had contracts to a few of the aristocratic families in some regions, such as Burgundy, Bretagne and Aquitaine.

Paris, the capital of France, was held by Philip the good of Burgundy at that time. Of course, Charles VII wanted to drive the english all out. But as long as the Burgunds had this bond with England, there was no use in attacking them, the new king found. Therefore he ordered that no military acts should be done until he had found a solution. Jeanne still continued on her mission to free France.

Then, one evening, Jeanne spoke to Francis. They often had talks in the evening in these times of war. Either it was because of some military action, or some personal issue. But every time was sort of special. Scotland didn't detest that relationship. He was not jealous. On the contrary he had offered himself as a bodyguard to Jeanne, since she was way too fragile and thin to be a good warrior. She was a risk for her body was the one of a woman. Yet again to leave her out of the war was unevitable. This evening, the Maid was serious.  
"Francis? Can you promise me something?", she asked.  
"Ugh.. sure, what is it?", France had grown close to her. She was like a little sister to him. Often she would surprise him with very smart arguments and strategys.  
"I want you to keep my sword. Soon, they will come for me. The saints have showed up once more for me. They said, that /they/ will take me away."  
"What? Who! Who is going to take you away?"  
"I don't know. .. but promise me, do nothing!", she insisted.  
"And keep that sword. You will need it. You might as well keep my armor, if it makes you any happier. The saints have spoken. You cannot disobey the saints."  
"But what will happen to you?"  
"That, Francis, is a thing only god knows about."  
And with these words, Jeanne left the sword in Francis tent, and went out into the cool air of the night.

In the next morning, Jeanne had disappeared. The soldiers were too shy to peek into her tent or knock on the entrance, but since she didn't even come to breakfast, it was sure, that she wasn't there anymore. She was the punctual type of girl. Never be late for anything.  
France had opened the entrance of her tent, confirming that she wasn't there. Instead of her, a letter was there, telling that the burgunds had kidnapped her  
"That… can't be true. The burgunds are with the english now.", Francis remembered as he read the letter over and over again. No time for that. And even though Jeanne had told him to do nothing, he prepared himself, put armor on, and rode straight to Burgundy, or to be more precise, to the castle where it was told that Philip le Bon resided.  
At the castle, they said, they had already sold Jeanne for 10.000 livres to the english. It seemed that the Maid of Orléans was truly slipping away from Francis' hands.  
Now.. the english. It was hard to tell where the english had brought her, since the english were nearly everywhere in France.

Messengers from the french troops were sent out to find out, undercover, where the Maid was taken hostage. France wasn't willed to give up on her, after she had done so much. Eventually, Francis also thought .. why he cared so much for the little mortal girl, when he was remaining calm compared to when he had been told that Scotland was dead. .. Perhaps because Scotland was strong? Yes, that must have been it. Strong and immortal. Like any other nation. Also, Scotland was stronger than France, that was for sure, so the blond frenchman thought, feeling a little guilty.

For a few months, the place she was kept hostage, was secret. Later they found out that she was kept in the tower of a castle in Rouen for about five long months. Then, she had a trial that took three months. Always there would come all kinds of people, often cleric people, to ask Jeanne questions about her beliefs and if she thought she was a saint. They tried to trick her into confirming that she was a witch.  
And even though that she was for her status as a farmer's daughter untypically intelligent and knew how to answer tricky questions, she was sentenced guilty in all of the accusations, such as witchcraft, heresy and murder – since she was no soldier, all of the men she had killed were victims of murder.  
Her sentence was to burn on a stake on May, 30th in the year 1430.

"ÉCOSSE!", France screamed, as he stormed to the place the french and scottish army had taken position with their tents and stuff.  
"I found her! She will burn in one hour, at the marketplace of Rouen! Quick! We might still be able to save her!"  
Alasdair didn't hesitate, grabbed his sword and followed France to their horses. They didn't have time for armor, but also no use in a crowd. Because a crowd it would be. It was no unusual thing in the medieval time. Women, that were accused of witchcraft burned quite often. And every time, there was audience to watch the 'show'.

The two of them rushed towards the city, hopped down their horses and made their way to the marketplace. In the beginning it was no problem, but soon, Alasdair lost France in the crowd, as the frenchman insisted so stubbornly to save the Maid. It was actually the best opportunity, just to fetch her right before she'd burn. Alasdair and him had swords, so they could cut their way free, if they had to.  
But then even Francis got stuck. There was english soldiers that kept the crowd at bay.  
Then, a roar went through the crowd. Jeanne appeared, handcuffed by a strong rope and lead by a soldier to the stake.  
Francis began to fight his way forward even stronger, but it was in vain. The girl was tied to the stake and the soldier even added more logs, since naturally the logs had to go up to the hips on any stake that was built to burn a witch. It had to be accostumed to the person that was sentenced to be a witch – by the way, not only women, just in most cases women.

Something unexpected happened: England showed up. He held a burning torch and obviously enjoyed walking in front of a crowd, having all attention drawn towards him. Suddenly, Arthur noticed a familiar face in the audience. He couldn't see his older brother, since he was too far away, but he could see Francis, as he was almost in the front. The english nation gestured some soldiers to drag the frenchman out of the crowd and made him kneel and look at Jeanne.  
"So, France… did you ever think, you could threaten me? Me? England? You must be bloody kidding!", Arthur laughed bitterly.  
"I will make you see what it is like to challenge me."  
And as simple as that, England set Jeanne's stake on fire!

The stake burned slowly, as if to torture the girl even more. The girl that hadn't even reached 20 years. The smoke made her cough hard anyway, taking her sight.  
"Someone.. ugh… please… someone hold a cross before my face…", she begged, tears streaming down her eyes – either from the smoke or because she was panicking. Maybe both.  
But there was someone in the crowd who had a good heart and held up high a cross made of steel or something. Jeanne looked at it, like it was a securing boat on a harsh sea.  
The first flames liked her feet and she grit her teeth as if to hold out. The flames got higher and higher. The temperature over the flames was almost the worst, since it soon appeared that she was cooking inside. Her blood boiled literally. Yet she would not scream, still looking at the cross in front of her eyes.  
After a good while, her whole body was burning, soon making her features unrecognisable and turning everything black as if to censor what was going on. To dust she would turn after the fire had died down and devoured her body.

France in the meantime was experiencing the most violent trauma in his life. He would have nightmares of this centuries, after this. For now, he just went berserk. The frenchman had Jeanne's sword which he pulled about the time, the body of the Maid was fully on fire. It was like an explosion. The sword was having an eerie glow and cut through the metallic armor of the english soldiers like butter.  
England first didn't notice what was happening, only as people from the audience started to scream and ran away.  
More soldiers were butchered by the mythical blade, that once was Jeanne D'arcs. It seemed like the endless anger of France was transferring into the sword and gave extra energy.

The audience quickly dissolved, leaving Alasdair there as if he really hadn't known what was going on. Well for one fact he didn't know, but then again he could guess. And he saw that France was going on cutting down people as if they were toys and slowly moving towards England.  
However, this was going to be of no use. Francis had to calm down. England himself was smart already – he ran away, sending more soldiers towards the french berserk.  
"FRANCE! Stoap this! Please...stoap!", Alasdair ran in front of Francis to Stop him. Actually not a very wise idea.  
But the frenchman stopped anyway. His hands were trembling and he had a hard time to control the power the sword was giving him.  
"Out. Of. My. Way.", it came slightly vibrating from Francis throat. He glared daggers into Alasdair, but still didn't move.  
"Pat th' sword awa'. . Jeanne wouldn't huv wanted this!"  
"Jeanne wanted a free France. Free from all the English."  
"Ugh. Ah know… bit nae /this/ wey! a'm sure… juist stoap this nonsense. Yer insane!"  
"Oh, I am very sane… We tried reason with the english. We tried to talk to them. How many men have they killed for no reason. Have you seen Arthur? He burned Jeanne down.. as if he was having a nice afternoon with Barbeque... he… he fucking burned her!", Francis dropped the sword and started to cry. The 'curse' of the sword had stopped and he was giving in to the sadness that was tied to the death of the best (female) friend France ever had.  
"He killed her…why did he do that? And why did he have to take over our lands! Why!"  
"Ah … ah think he juist likes tae see ye lik' that. Dowie, crabbit. Desperate. Ah ne'er…Ah ne'er thought sae muckle hatred wis ben mah wee brother.", the scotsman paused. "Bit that sword we mist throw awa'. It's cursed. It won't gie ye ony luck."  
"Why? Do you know this sword? It was Jeanne's sword. She gave it to me to watch over it."  
"A'll explain tae ye later…"

Feeling a slight paranoia, Scotland found best that they would retreat for now. Leave the city and go back to their hideout.  
Against Alasdairs advice, Francis picked up the sword, and sheathed it. For now he had no desire in further battles. Then he walked over to the still warm ash of the stake. He dug a little and picked out a small iron cross, that used to be around Jeanne's neck. This was the third thing he could keep.  
"How am I supposed to give her a grave? I can't…. I have no bag with me for the ashes.", Francis shakily said, not daring to touch the ashes further.  
"We don't huv time fur that. I'm sorry… bit we cuid aye bury something else. . Howfur aboot that cross frae her? It's better than hee haw, ye know?I don't ken, bit ah huv th' feeling, Englain wull ca' reinforcements. We'll be in trauchle whin we don't gang."

The two of them made their way back to the little 'tent town' of their troops. By the time they reached it, Francis felt utterly tired and worn out. Like the sword had sucked out all of his energy. Alasdair confirmed that idea. Still he wouldn't tell why he knew all of this.  
"Let's… eat and then we can go to bed?", Francis suggested. He was too tired to even think of all the things that had happened the past 9 months since Jeanne had been captured.  
"Aye…"  
Scotland provided Francis with everything he needed and left, as the blond had finally fallen asleep. The redhead found it was his responsibility to tell the troops what had happened that day.

On the next morning, France felt way better. He still had to spend time thinking of what actually had happened, and how they would continue. Jeanne was dead. But not the ghost of her. Not her teachings. She had told all of those who had met her, never to give up. To fight even though it is not convenient. The frenchman suggested to himself that it would be just best to take her place in leading the troops into war. … and perhaps driving out the english in her name. That would be what she had wanted.  
Then again, they would have to have it organised. They had so very good success with starting at fighting several fortresses, slowly unlocking the regions surrounding them. They also would need more men to keep these fortresses french.  
The king said, that there should be no military acts. But now there was no use in waiting, Francis found. They had waited over 80 years now, wasn't it? 80 years in which millions of french had become slaves to the english.  
France was now more than ready for a change!


	7. Chapter 6

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

In the years 1436 – 1441, the french could get the Île-de-France back, which builds the political centre of France. In april 1436, they could already drive out the english of Paris, the capital and heart of France.  
The losses on the english side were enormous. It was only until octobre 1453, that the english had to leave the continent, except for Calais in the north.  
But not before the last, and most important battle, the battle of Castillon.

In this battle, a lot of french people were fighting. It was ober 10.000 men, while on the english side it was only the half of it.  
It also seemed that after all this time, England was exhausted in this war for France. He would never get the nation!  
The battle of castillon-la-bataille played in summer, July 1453 in the Aquitaine region of France. Back then it was still England's place…

Talbot, an english commander, initially wanted to secure the english bridge head to also strengthen the place the english soldiers had. But seeing the quantity of brave french and scottish soldiers, he changed his plans quickly. The french commander Jean Bureau in the meantime feared Talbot for his skills in battle, and ordered a huge amount of soldiers to encircle the english camp and to prepare an attack. Talbot lead a smaller body of his troops to the french camp, finding a smaller group of french archers on the way.. which gave his troop a boost of ego.

After some smaller fights, a messenger came to Talbot, telling him that the french were retreating for some reason. Talbot wanted to use that opportunity and got out to get the french with all of his men. But arriving on the french camp made him find fierce soldiers that were outnumbering his own. The french had double men power for the battle. In the beginning, Talbot could keep his position, but as the bretonian duke, an ally of France reached the battle field with his cavallery and covered the right side of the english commander, and killed his horse.  
Someone recognised the commander and killed him immediately. Talbot was in his late 60s as he died.

"Finally found you… murderer.", France gargled, as he found Arthur in the middle of this merciless battle. Some other englishmen fled, but Arthur was too stoic to give up that easily.  
Normal human beings couldn't kill him. And Scotland had no intention in fighting his brother directly.

"Murderer? She was a witch!", England insisted, not seeing his own flaws.  
Francis didn't feel much like discussing wether that girl had been a witch or not. He simply draw that magical sword Jeanne had given to him, and summoned all the hatred he felt towards England. He remembered every single humiliation Arthur had done to him.  
"What did I ever do to you…?", Francis said with a raspy voice.

Then there was no hesitation anymore. The two clashed together, scraping their swords, swinging the steel that would soon heaten up through the battle. France's sword heated up sooner. It was a magical sword after all. Jeanne didn't have it for no reason. The english were good smiths, no question in that… yet, suddenly Englands sword cracked and split.  
Arthur then drew a dagger to defend himself. Being in war makes you have a lot of weapons. Sometimes it might appear paranoid, but people and nations only strive to survive.  
England's defense grew weaker and soon the dagger as well burst.  
France, in the meantime, had given the other nation's body several wounds, like it was no match at all for him. Yet, the french nation felt disguisted by the very look at the younger nation that was lying in front of him and bleeding now freely.  
"Let's end it…."  
"Nae!"

The scream came from a redhead that stormed through the crowd that had built around the two still fighting nations.  
"Stoap it! …Francis please, don't murdurr him…ah ken. It's something ah shouldn't be asking. Bit he is aye mah brother. Mah little… brother. ..Killing him won't revive Jeanne either!", the desperate voice said.

An eerie silence fell over the scene. So much to think about it. It might be the only chance to kill the murderer. .. on the other hand, France wouldn't be any better than him.  
Thinking once more, Francis found, he could hurt the younger nation below him just so badly, that the young man would think twice before conquering the large nation in the south again.  
Francis took a step back, sheathed his sword, and stepped with all of his might onto England's knee, making a loud cracking sound.  
Nations had strong healing powers and the boy wouldn't be crippled.. but for sure being handicapped for some time. The frenchman didn't care about the heartbreaking scream Arthur let out.

"Shut up! …I will let you run this time. But think of what you did here. And over in scotland. I will pick some of my men to carry you to the next harbour so you get back home. And tell your king to retreat from Scotland too!  
And remember this, everytime you feel the urge to challenge either of us. .. if the men escorting you won't return or if you try other things that I will not like, I will chase you and kill you. And your brother won't be able help you either then", France said with a sharp tone.  
Then he picked two of his men who could pick up England carefully enough and put him onto a horse to make the travel easier. Francis picked 4 more soldiers for protection.

Some time later, the english king gave up and retreated all of his troops from France, except for Calais in the north. But the english over there remained friendly anyhow, perhaps even immigrated. If they had been hostile, Francis would have known of a way to get rid of them. It seemed like Arthur had taken Francis' threat seriously.  
Also, in the same year, the regions of Burgundy, Aquitaine and Bordeaux joined the kingdom of France, recognising Charles VII. as their king.

"I just hope, they also left your country.", Francis said, as he with Alasdair on his side, watched the english ships slowly shrinking over the channel.  
"Ah don't ken. Ah jalouse I'll huv tae check, bit ah don't wantae travel o'er Englain. 'n' th' ither routes ur sae long…", the scotsman put on a pout, being kind of tired of everything.  
Everywhere in France, people were celebrating the day they got rid of the english. Finally, the french were french only again and could enjoy their lifes without more fears than usual.

"What.. do we do now?", the blond wondered, turning towards the older one.  
"Didn't we want to move over to you? We have spend now.. way more than 50 years at my place, didn't we?"  
"Aye, we did. Bit ah don't mynd. Thare is a lot o' hings we wanted tae dae. We wanted tae travel o'er yer land – especially th' sooth. Ah huv ne'er bin sae muckle doon sooth afore. 'n' then… ah wonder if oor hoose is aye standing."  
"Oui, and we wanted to make a funeral for /her/. .. And we still have things from the war I don't think we want to carry with us all the time."  
"Aye. . Howfur aboot ah contact Éire? he shuid be able tae dae something fur us. He cuid clype us oan th' situation in mah hame, If we kin git a hame thare 'n' an' a' tak' care o' oor booty. Ye cuid send him Pierre.", Alba suggested.  
"Good idea. Let's do that."

The couple was in the middle of nowhere.. somewhere in France, and was thinking about the next step. Most of the french citizens were surely trying to build up, what the english had changed or destroyed. Some of the scottish that had been helping during the war, took the french citizenship as their secound one, often also marrying a french woman.  
"I sometimes regret that we don't have children…", France dreamily said when looking at Alasdairs eyes.  
Said Alasdair blushed, "W-we couldn't. . Nae during war. ..It's nae a time fur tae raise bairns. Thay be nations or nae."  
France sat down, writing the letter, preparing the Quill by sharpening the tip. Then he placed the ink bottle as well onto the table, and the paper he was going to write on. Alasdair helped him with that, with the english spelling and also foreign words, that were actually more celtic in nature. Since Bretagne had only recently joined, the breton celtic wasn't really into France yet.  
As they had said everything in the letter, Alasdair signed it as well and they rolled it up and binded it for Pierre to transport, after the ink dried.

Then they rode to the next harbour in the west of France, placing the booty for Éire and some of his men to carry over to Scotland, in case there was a place. Otherwise they would stay at Éires island. Ireland had also an ideal route for to get to Scotland, so Francis and Alasdair had decided, not wanting to see even more english for the next hundred years.

"So now, there's only two things: Funeral for Jeanne and vacation. .. So I think we do the funeral first. I know that no priest in France would do a funeral for her. They still regard her as a witch … but she doesn't not deserve such bullshit."  
"Dae ye loue her?", Alasdair bluntly asked.  
"Quoi? (what?)"  
"Do. you. love her, ah asked."  
"What kind of question is that? … I love her – like a father. Loving her like a woman is out of the question! One: I am married to you!, Two: She is mortal!, Three: She is way too young. .. You're such a silly man!"  
Alasdair laughed. It was a relieved laugh. But had he really sometime feared to loose France to Jeanne?  
"Non.. I would have wished for her.. after this war.. that she would live a normal life. Have a loving husband. Cute children. … and watch herself grow old and weak. .. I know she wasn't the person for this.. perhaps. But I just wish her that. A happy life full of laughter. .. but sometimes also tears. All of it.", France felt talking himself closer to tears.  
"We shuid gang tae Orléans then, na? ah ken it's far awa', bit this is whaur her fowk bides. She mist aye huv siblings 'n' parents, sae ah huv heard."  
"I have heard that too. ..We should have a secret funeral with them!"

They traveled to the hometown where Jeanne had lived the first years of her life. Her mother agreed instantly, so did her brothers and sister. But her father, Jacques D'Arc was thinking that it won't be a good idea. There might be still people around that would cause him bad reputation for putting up with his daughter, that had been such a tomboy.  
The rest of the family and Francis and Scotland however, held a small improvised funeral on the graveyard of Domrémy. Later on, the place would be called 'Domrémy-la-pucelle'. La pucelle was the french word for Maid, what Jeanne used to call herself a lot. Also later, the family would be raised into aristocracy, even getting an own crest with a sword in it.  
The funeral itself was rather solemnly, pure. One person held a candle, one more digging a small hole. A few latin words were said and the iron cross of Jeanne was buried in sacred earth. No one would know where the place of the grave would be. Only two nations, and the family.  
And even though there was no obvious grave, from this night on there would be always flowers on this very place.  
Francis felt also that after the war, a huge burden was lifted. Jeanne's only wish had been fulfilled, France was free from the english.

Alasdair and Francis went back to where their house had been. Everything had grown wild over the place. Sadly, there was also a spot on which a larger fire, like a campfire would have been. And a lot of dark skeletons from sheep. Appearantly someone had been hungry for them, and they were sure that it had been the english. Again.  
"I hope they're in the sheep heaven."  
The house itself was only half standing. The wooden part that had made the first floor had been burned down and still charred timbers were lying around and in the house. The stone part that built the ground floor was overgrown with green stuff, moss and vines.

"It doesn't keek lik' we cuid stairt bide 'ere anyway. . Ainlie wi' a lot o' wirk. Awfy much wirk.", Alba yawned and stretched, being slightly worn out by the trip.  
"Do you think we could still spend the night somewhere here? If the forest is not taken over by bandits, we could try it there…"

They went over to the forest, guiding their horses through the thick trees and woodwork. It was obvious that no one had been here for a long time. Once they had found their small lake, they made a stop and undressed. They had only taken their chest mail with them, so they wouldn't get hit by an arrow into the chest. The new problem with the fire weapons were a different problem. But then again, not everyone had a gun. More people had crossbows, and the armor was still suited for that kind of weapon.

The air was filled with vitality. The water was cool, but not too chilly. Little rocks here and there stood out of the water. Water plants such as water lillies and reed sticked out on the edges and only sometimes in the middle. The few fish that the pond held, stormed away as they heard the two nations approaching.  
"Ugh.. I must reek. How did you cope with me?", France said, disguisted by the fact that war hadn't given much time for them to always bathe.  
Alasdair just chuckled and embraced the naked frenchman. "Whit if ah liked yer reek?"  
"Then you'd be a freak .. but I love that freak that is you.", France coyly said.  
"And you reek too. Off into the lake with you!"  
They had both their share of wounds and scars taken from the battle. But never something that made them immobile for a long time. They had been lucky for that.

Sinking into the water and swimming a few metres, the french nation enjoyed himself lied onto the back, letting the water carry him.  
Alba also enjoyed the water, but was more playful. He swam close to the other nation, waited his moment and then ducked Francis as he least expected it.  
"Oah, mauvaise renard!(bad fox) You are so immature!", France squeaked and splashed water at the older nation. Said nation only laughed and dived his way out of the situation.  
After a while Francis swam over to a larger rock and sat on it. He wanted to wash his hair by using some of the soapwort that grew on the edge of the lake. He took a few and grinded the stems against the rock to create a foam. The used the foam in the place of a shampoo. The scent wasn't covering much like a deodorant in the 20th or 21st century would, but it made a descent replacement.

"Weel, if that isn't th' lassie o' th' lake…", Alasdair swam closer to Francis again, having this foxy glint in his eyes. In his view, Francis looked somewhat like a mermaid or a naiad.  
"Lassie? What lassie?", the frenchman pouted a little and put his foot onto the scottish shoulder.  
" th' lassie o' th' lake.. She taught me howfur tae kiss… …Alas, that sword ye huv, is frae her.", Alasdair explained, taking the foot from his shoulder and sitting beside the blonde, preparing some soapwort to wash his hair too.  
"Oui, you wanted to tell me something about that sword, right?"  
"Aye. …Mmh. Th' king arthur o' th' legend, ye ken that legend, don't ye?"  
"Do you believe this sword is the mythical Excalibur?"  
"Aye. Didn't ye notice th' magic in thare?"  
"… What shall I say? I don't believe in magic.  
"Wether ye hawp it or nae. It /is/ Excalibur. 'n' a'm waantin' ye tae gie it back tae th' lassie o' th' lake."  
"Non. According to the legend, the sword was given back to her after King Arthur lost it – that Jeanne had the sword proves, that the lady of the lake couldn't keep it as well. And it's not a sword to be wielded by humans. I noticed that it drenched my energy, but what effect might it have for normal human beings? There is no way… I will keep it. This is the most save place."

Both listened to the sounds of the forest for a while. Then Scotland slipped off into the lake again and swam a while. It was obvious that he didn't like the idea of Francis keeping such a dangerous sword. To both King Arthur and Jeanne it had brought no luck.


	8. Chapter 7

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Alasdair and France started with their little tour de France in the beginning of summer, close to the next department of the basse-normandie. Their next goal was Le Mans, a city in the department 'Sarthe'. The city was famous first of all for it's beautiful cathedral, on which was built only recently. It combined both the style of the romanesque as well as of the gothic which came up in the last third of the medieval times that were just about to end. Soon, the time of the baroque would set in. But all of these epochial terms are terms that people from the 20th century, or around that time, would use for these centuries back then. Epoches are not a recipe to go after. People can hardly say when one ended and the other begun.  
But a few things changed remarkably. Like the fashion, or a way of speech, or art.

When entering Le Mans in medieval time, the first impression you get is the huge cathedral Saint-Julien, which was built in a remarkable manner. The bars outside on the gothic side, remind one of the bones of a skeleton, holding the actual 'house' in their middle.  
The city itself was drawn by the hands of war. There was hardly any adult men. And the few that were there were bandaged and had severe injuries. The women there were also not that many. Those that were there, were either caring for the remaining children, the next generation, or had given up their life, had become prostitutes.  
Only a few were gifted with a normal life: Man, woman and some nice children.

Le Mans was also popular for their horse races. To organise them was hard to do after the war, but it was a necessity. The people couldn't pay much for seeing the race, yet they definetly needed to see something else than poverty and sadness.  
Our nations-couple wanted to settle for an Inn, to then discover the cité.  
"This one looks cool. Will we stay here?", Francis asked, being tired from the long ride. After entering the Inn and calling out, it appeared that no one seemed to own this place.  
"Strange.. let's go for another one. We can't use it like we own it. This is just.. creepy.. I don't know."

"Customers!", a young voice chirped. Light foottapping was heard and then, two children appeared, one being a girl, the other a boy. They were obviously twins!  
"Welcome to our Inn, le trèfle vieux (the old clover), Messieurs. Do you wish to stay here? For how long?", the girl asked, with a charming smile on her lips.  
"Ugh, we. .. where are your parents?"  
The eyes of the two kids lost their happy gleam.  
"They died.. during an attack. .. oh, but we still can serve you just as well. I'll be cooking meals for you, if you want, and my brother can help you otherwise."  
"Oui! I can clean the rooms, take care of your hor-"  
"Haud it, laddie, wull ye?", Alasdair interrupted the boy. "yer ainlie bairns. How urr ye able… tae bide 'ere alone? 'n' na yin else seems tae be 'ere either. Nae a single punter bit us?"  
The girl, in the meantime, was of different mind. "Did you only come here to stay, or to discuss with us on how we live? We can take care of ourselves pretty well! Linot, go for the horses!"  
Linot, the boy, ran outside to bring the horses to the Inn's stables to take better care of them.

"You are pretty tough, ma petite.", Francis smiled. "I'm sure you can take care of yourselves. .. but you might still need help. How about we stay here for a week and help you in that time? I mean.. an Inn is always a place were drunkards might enter. The two of you are too cute and I couldn't forgive myself if we'd just be here and watch you cope that hard fate."  
"…And after that week, you will be gone. It has no use.", the girl responded.  
Alasdair in the meantime, also liked the idea of taking care over two children that were so energetic.  
"In this week we will either look how good you are at your tasks, and then we might help you improve. The two of us are soldiers that survived the war. We can help you learn to defend yourself. Learn how to wield a dagger."

The girl first didn't know, but there was nothing to be angry about it. Those two young men were pretty handsome too.  
She nodded and the smile returned to her face. "My name is Agnés. My brother's name is Linot.. which you probably heard. Haha. Eh.. and your names are…?"  
"I'm Francis."  
"Alasdair."  
"…Are you scottish?", Agnés frowned upon the redhead and blushed. She was a young teen and had obviously just fallen in love for the good looking scotsman. Said scotsman didn't even notice that change of emotion, more so the frenchman who put on a smug grin.

"So… you cook?", Francis tried.  
"Alasdair and me are quite hungry. We rode all the time to get to this city.. now show me what you got."  
The two of them went into the kitchen, where Agnés worked most of her time.  
The redhead in the meantime looked a bit around him, finding the room real messy, then went outside to the stables to find the boy struggling with the bridles.  
The horse in question had also become nervous and was about to break out.  
"Awright thare laddie! stoap this, wull ye?"

Linot looked surprised and felt rather bad. He let go of the poor horse and made a sad face.  
"Noo don't greet.", Alasdair wondered who was worse: France when he was a child or this boy. "I'll shaw ye howfur it's dane."  
The strong looking redhead gently took off the bridles, the horse willingly accepting it.  
"Ye huv tae dae it gently. Lik' it's a flower, aye? 'n' ye huv tae be taller fur it tae. Eh. Huv a go staun oan this."  
Scotland placed a ladder on which the boy could climb up. The ladder rested on a sideboard of the stable and Linot could easily reach for the bridle. Linot wasn't stupid or something, he just needed guidance, Alasdair thought. The boy, who had short brown hair, gently pulled off the bridle, almost too gently, but it was okay since the horse didn't get hurt.

In the kitchen at almost the same time, Agnés and Francis were busy with cleaning. Some rotten food they had also sorted out in buckets. Luckily, they also had a garden, so the frenchman told the girl how to compost kitchen trash to make fertile earth.  
After making the kitchen shine again, both needed a break and drank some fresh water from the fixed well that was also in the backyard. Francis found that the Inn was actually really luxurious with all the extras. Impossible for the two to take care of, no matter how energetic.  
Francis had to admit that being an adult sure had it's positive sides: taller body, perfect to reach things that are up high; then the thing about sex… Francis hoped that the twins wouldn't fall in love with each other eventually; then the physical and mental perspective.. and a lot of other things.

"There hardly is any good stuff left, after we cleaned up.. so what shall we do?", Agnés said with a frown towards Francis whom she didn't like for being so picky about the kitchen. Like that blonde was pointing at all of her mistakes and blaming her into the ground. What had she done that the young man was so evil?  
"How about Rillettes du Mans? We are in Le Mans after all. Have you ever made this dish?"  
"Non… I'm afraid… Mom wanted to show me how, before she… she.. "  
"I will teach you on her behalf then.", Francis softly offered. "I know I might be not as good as her.. but I'm sure she will be happy when she sees how you do it."  
"How will you know that? You don't even know me!", Agnés cried out and stormed off out of the kitchen and into the city.

"Whit happened in thare?", Alasdair warily asked, looking from the main entrance door to Francis.  
"I think.. it is kind of complicated. .. But I'm getting hungry. I'll cook something for us. Can't wait till she is back.", the frenchman didn't think much into that. After all it was the girls' city. She would know where to go and where not.

Yet even after the meal the three had, Agnés didn't return. Linot began to worry.  
"Can I go look for her, Messieurs?", he politely asked.  
"Mmh.. but not alone. I mean.. she seems lost.", Francis suggested. "We will come with you"

The three of them searched through the darkening city. Soon it would be nighttime, which would make their search for Agnés even more difficult. But even with Linots help it took a long time already. They had been at all the places the girl would usually go. Another option would be that the girl was having secrets before her brother. Her brother claimed that he knew everything. Since they were twins they would stick together, he confirmed.  
"Weel, obviously ye err.", Alasdair bluntly said, being even more weary. They had eaten, but were still fatigue from traveling around. This was causing the scot a bad mood. He didn't really want to deal with stubborn or stupid children.

"Du calme, mon renard…(calm down, my fox)", Francis softly said, tried to comfort his husband by snuggling a bit against him.  
Just then in a back alley, a muffled cry was heard. And some men cursing.  
But when the two men and the boy went there, there was no one.

Days passed by, not a single trace of Agnés.  
"It's a shame.. but I'm afraid, when she won't return, when we won't find her.. then we will go and look for a place where you can stay, Linot. There is certainly no way for you to remain in such a huge house.", Francis declared.  
"…If something happened to her I want at least see her corpse. I drew a picture of her. I know, I cannot draw well, but this has to do!", Linot held up a stack of drawings depicting his sister. Children's drawing, but you could recognise the girl. Francis was almost crying since this gesture was so.. moving!  
"We will find her!"

Then, another day, almost before the two men had planned to continue their travel, they found Agnés. She was in a bad shape, but still alive. Several men had raped her, took her clothes and hurt her badly, because she had tried to escape. Those men were soldiers. The end of war had made them unemployed and therefore mostly bored.  
In the end, Francis and Alasdair had to put the children to a convent, to the care of monks and nuns.

Life is not always connected with happy ends, as this sad story shows.  
The two nations couldn't keep good memories with this city, but they didn't let themselves drag down by such a story. More tragedies were going to come, but also happy times, for sure. Life is full of things, both happy and unhappy. The key is the balance between good and evil.

"I somehow get the feeling that it was my fault that she ran away.", Francis said as they left the city walls behind them.  
"Na. Ah don't think sae. Ye wur teaching her hings, didn't ye? 'n' then she didn't huv tae gied the pitch fur she wis jealous. Ah ne'er asked her tae fall in loue wi' me.", Alasdair grunted, putting on an angry look.  
"Next time, we tell right away that we are married. People in this land might be homophobes, but I don't care anymore.", he scoffed.  
"Whit's oor neist destination?"  
Francis unfolded the map he drew of his own land, marking the spots they were heading to.  
"Our next head is Blois. We're actually getting close to Orléans again..", France murmured.  
"e-eh.. anyway, in Blois, there's the river Loire, the secound most important river in France, right after la Seine. There's also other things in Blois, but I will tell more, once we are there. We won't spend much time there either, because the city isn't that big yet."  
"Aye."

I guess the end didn't turn out as positive as I wanted it =_= But this is life.. . next will be better, promise :3"  
Rillettes du Mans is a typical dish out of the Loire-Valley – Le Mans to be exact. It is like a paste out of meat that you can smear on bread and then devour it. There is detailed recipes throughout the internet.  
And the little reference to the horse-race.. is actually a reference to the motorrace that is nowadays in Le Mans. Also, you can see walls in this city that the romans left. And I have to emphasize that Le Mans definetly isn't a city to worry about. It's just a product of their time! You should absolutely visit Le Mans to see how beautiful this place has become.


	9. Chapter 8

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

"Blois is a funnae name.", the redhaired scotsman found, as the two of them rode towards the little city lying on river Loire.  
"I bet your cities also have funny names. .. yet, your accent alone is a funny thing. It made me laugh everytime you opened your mouth, when we were younger.", Francis grinned.  
"Aye, ye wur easy tae entertain. 'n' aye ur."  
"What does that mean?", Francis tried to pout, but he was too happy to be with the redhaired man, to hold it for a longer time.

You could still see huge forests that were decorating the area around Blois. Also, when looking at the city, the observer could recognize that the city was built on more than one hill, making it hard to travel in the place itself.  
The two nations also remembered, that Jeanne had made Blois a base for her crusades in the Loire-valley. But the city had been entirely different back then. Now the sky was clear and the sun warmed their skin.

This time they entered a nice Inn, the 'masque rouge' (red mask). As they left their stuff behind, they went out just to discover the city anew. So many new faces and impressions. And there was a fair as well.  
"Ooh, this is really nice!", Francis said.  
"Aye, it is.", Alasdair agreed while looking at the several booths.  
There was different booths of people selling their stuff: Things made out of leather and fabric, fabric bales. Then things made from metal – either weapons and tools, but also jewelry.  
And there was also gypsys and jesters, entertaining the people.

And then there was this magician. He claimed to be coming from the isle of man, a mysterious island between ireland and the larger british isle. He went by the name of Kay Peel and was in his early 40s. Scotland didn't know him, but the minute he saw the magician, he was fully interested and literally sticked to the place. Alasdair watched the man like a little boy and Francis couldn't even talk to his husband after waiting politely for even 20 minutes.  
The sun had really set for the night then, and the fire-eaters showed off their skills.  
"You really love magic, don't you?", the man said, after he told the audience that he'd take a break. He had noticed the redhead right away and found it amusing that Alasdair had remained even after the show had actually stopped.

"A-aye, Sur. Ah mean. Whit ye dae is barry. Ah lik' yer technique, it mak's yer magic a'maist flawless. Huv ye learned frae Mer. Ah mean. Frae wha did ye learn a' o' this?"  
"Oh, my master taught me quite a bit. ..his name was Rubee. .. You are from Scotland, aren't you? It's so rare to see a man of my land .. well not directly. I'm from Mannin, or 'Isle of man', as you call it."  
The two chattered away as Francis watched them. Now it became even harder to understand Alba. Francis hadn't even noticed that slowly, the older nation had grown accostumed to him and the french language. Also often, the frenchman would also find himself adding scottish words to his own language or using a scottish sounding accent in his english speech.  
Besides of that, he found it utterly cute how Alasdair talked to the stranger. This gleam in his eyes.. like those ages of responsibility and sadness had just been wiped away.

"Tomorrow I have my day off. You might come and visit me, my friend…"  
"Alasdair. Alasdair McKirkland. Haha, we talked a' this time 'n' ah ne'er tellt ye mah name. Wull ye aye be in th' city th'morra, then?"  
"Yes. I'm a travelling artist, but I'll be there for two more days. France is such a beautiful land, so why hurry to rush through there? So, I want to share a few more magic tricks. Perhaps you can show me some two. Just come… at this address.", Mr. Peel said and wrote the name of a street onto a piece of cloth (paper isn't that common) and gave it to the redhead.  
Francis would have felt jealous if the man hadn't said anything about France being so beautiful. The blonde frenchman concluded that the man had been travelling away from his homeland for a good time now.  
Kay Peel went back to his tent and Alasdair finally could also continue walking with Francis over the fair. He would meet his new idol after all again.

"Hey look, Al. They sell magic supplies. Would you want something? Those puzzles look funny."  
"Mh? Oh, aye…"  
The booth offered a variety of tricks from little magical boxes, over threads which you could hold or twist in a certain way, to simple puzzles made from light metals. Chains or hoops of metal that you could interlink without any visible way how it was possible to do it. The owner of the booth also showed how a few things were done. It was nothing compared to the great magician the two young men just had met, but still charming.  
In the end they could only leave after buying a few of those. Alasdair promised to try some of them.

They bought a few more things, such a little reminders that they had been in Blois, and something fine to eat.  
In the end there was even firework – a rare thing at that time! It wasn't magic, but both were amazed and couldn't stop staring at the sky until the firework actually stopped. It was way past midnight when they came back to their Inn.

"You never showed me any of your magic.. but I know that you must have some. England used to show off his magic when he was a baby already.. so why shouldn't you have some too?", Francis pointed out.  
"Ah don't cop lik' there's uise tae it whin ye kin uise yer hauns. . 'n' ye huv barry hauns, wee prince.", Alasdair took Francis' left hand and kissed the palm softly. The frenchman blushed and leaned over for a kiss.  
"I just love you so much!"  
"A loue ye mair than this."  
"No, I love you more, you silly goose."  
"Noo I'm a goose? ah thought ah wis a fox."  
"Pff.. .. I just find this 'english' term funny. Makes a funny sound."  
"Juist anither thing that mak's ye smile? I'll memorise that then.", Alasdair winked.  
"Je t'adore, Écosse.. .. and even though you neglect me naming you Écosse.. I like this sound also. I connect it to you. If your land is anything like you, I will never want to leave it once we made it there. I want to sink into the scottishness."

For a moment, Alasdair was taken aback.  
"Ye mad rocket french… . Noo, come 'ere. A'm waantin' tae shaw ye something."  
Alasdair opened the window, letting the spiced evening air inside and revealing the night sky with a full moon. The scotsman sat on the windowsill, then leading Francis onto his lap to sit.  
The redhead made an attempt to grab the moon, and let his hand remain there for a while.  
"What are you-…?"  
"Shhh.", the scotsman replied, removing his hand. Where the moon had been, there was suddenly nothing! The blonde opened his mouth in protest, but then in his friends hand something gleamed silverish. It appeared that he had the moon in his hand!  
"'ere. ..I wid git th' moon frae th' sky fur ye! Sweet wee prince."  
Too amazed to say something, the frenchman just kept staring into the hand with the tiny moon. He reached out his own hand to touch the object. It was cool, like a stone. But perfectly round as if it was man-made.  
Cherry lips smiled and the moon was placed back to it's normal place in the sky like it hadn't been removed at all.

"How did you do that? Real magic? You are really strong then… not only with your muscles…", Francis hesitated. Not only that scotland had developed these steel-hard muscles, he could also control the nature with magic.  
"Aye, 'twas magic. . Bit hee haw world moving. Ah won't tell ye howfur it's dane. Didn't ye say ye don't hawp in magic anyways? whin ye come tae mah steid you'll huv tae chaynge yer mynd anyway.", the redhead gave a cocky grin.  
"…but that's mean. And no fair. How am I supposed to fit in there?"  
"Ye don't huv tae fit in… as lang as ah fit intae ye."

That was low! You perverted renard!"  
Scottish laughter was heard and a muffled french voice. It was just obvious what Alasdair was aiming at. Either way, they had a lovely night in Blois by the river Loire.

On the next morning they went out for breakfast. Francis started getting concerned about their money. It will not last for their whole tournament through France. The country was just too big!  
"You could work as a street-magician like that guy we saw yesterday."  
"Street-magician? ne'er! howfur kin ye think o' sic a thing?", came the grumpy reply.  
"Then think of something else. .. I don't know right now what I could do. I can cook – but I'd need supplies and a kitchen to do that. Same for making clothes. I can do them, but I need a place and materials.", the frenchman said and took a good bite of that baguette.  
"Ye cuid an' a' sing. Ah hear ye sing frae time tae time…", Scotland put on a malicious grin.  
The frenchman blushed and took a sip of the wine he drank. Just recently he had turned from water and milk to wine. There were sure signs of that both grew older. Alasdair used to drink whisky when he was younger too, but not now, because at that time, whisky was hard to find in France.  
"That's not.. something to work out."  
"Och, bit a street-magician is, aye?"  
"… another option would be that we kill people for money."  
"bounty hunters. . Pure?"  
"We learned how to kill, didn't we? It's not like we had much of a different choice as wanderers. But we can make expectations. Not blindly moving people out of the way…"  
"Soonds lik' a plan."

After their breakfast, they went a bit for sightseeing around the city of blois. There were often castles, churchs and some other things on construction. Either building up something new or repairing something old.  
However, they ended up at the magician's house. But the magician wasn't there anymore. The host said, that there had been gangsters saying something about bringing the man to Bourges. A bishop there had claimed he wanted to talk to Kay Peel as he believed he was a heretic.  
"We huv tae gang 'n' free him. Mibbie we aren't tae late! howfur far is it tae Bourges?"  
"About.. an hour horseride. We can pack our things quickly and then go. It is our next stop anyway."

The two of them quickly ran back to their Inn, took their stuff and rode as quick as their could to the direct street to Bourges. France knew every city and town in his own land like the back of one's hand. They could not miss the guys who kidnapped Mr. Peel.  
"I feel a déjà vu coming up.", Francis said as they rode down.  
"Dae ye think it wull end up lik' wi' Jeanne? …I hawp nae. This yin haes tae be easier! wur earlier, th' trial couldn't even huv stairted. 'n' na yin kens wur efter thaim."

They went past the gates of Bourges. It was afternoon already. Would they manage to find the person in question. Actually they could have carried on like nothing had happened. Then again it was like a secound chance. When they had failed at Jeanne, they could make it better this time. And then again, this man didn't deserve to die. He had been a simple entertainer, not a heretic. Both nations were catholic actually. But they had also made their personal experiences that had let them forget about this fact and focus more on what really is than what people might believe. Eventually they figured that the system of the catholic church was built on false preachers. The bishops and his colleagues were only filling their wallets with the money they'd get from Indulgences and killing certain people that were in their way. Corruption was a huge topic in this time. And only slowly, the people would wake up from their trance and them obeying the christian clerical upper class.

"Once we have found him, we must think of what we do with him afterwards.. We should have him disguised and bring him somewhere. But.. where?"  
"Ah don't ken either…Do ye think we kin think o' this efter?"  
They aimed for the huge cathedral close to the centre of the city. When they arrived there, they had just caught a glimpse of Peel getting dragged in there.  
"Whit dae we dae noo?"  
"We… .. we cover ourselves as monks. As I can see there, it is an abbey.", Francis saw various monks wander around in their long robes. He thought for a moment. Some of the monks had swords with them like they just came from a crusade. Other didn't have that, but their robes were wide enough to have hidden weaponry.  
A plan built itself in Francis mind.  
A few hours later, someone would find two naked monks hidden in bushes, while the two nations were already done with saving the poor man from the isle mannin.

The abbey they entered was cool. It was already the middle of summer and the more south Francis and Alasdair approached, the warmer it got. Churches and other stone buildings somehow always could keep their cool. The steps they made were irritatingly loud through the hallways. Which way should they go now? Eventually they remained at one spot, using their ears as best as they could. When other monks passed by, they only nodded. It was not unusual. Some monks were often putting themselves into the time of muteness, to let the thoughts grow louder. Also, they used their hoods to cover up their conspicuous looks.

Alba tugged Francis' coat and dragged him behind a heavy wooden door. A spiral staircase led down from there and several moans and eerie screams were heard coming from below.  
"This must be hell.", Francis whispered, his blue eyes trying to reach the base of the staircase.  
"Na fashes. Ye huv a de'il oan yer side.", Alasdair grinned and revealed his messy red hair.  
Francis took the hand of his husband and together they made it down the spooky staircase. Scotland said, he could recognise the voice of Peel talking, convincing that he was no heretic and wasn't trying to overthrow the church and that he loved god and his son. From what was heard, he was already being tortured.

Now, there was only an open iron door between the two nations and the room in which the bishop, the torturer and Peel himself were. There was also two more men, obviously young and only there to observe how 'torture was done properly'.  
The french kingdom wanted to enter immediately to set an end to this madness, but Alasdair held him back. He shook his head and motioned to wait a little longer.  
Just as the man passed out, Scotland entered in fiercly and threw a knife at the torturer. The Bishop yelped, jumped back and was about to draw a weapon himself. France, as he backed up his husband, entered just as quickly and lunged towards the Bishop. The torturer was only mildly hit, but Alasdair took him into battle – Axe vs a Claymore.  
France and Scotland decided to have it a quick match. The two novices rushed out of the room, terrified by the sudden change.  
"Let thaim run. Thay don't maiter.", Alasdair said as he cut into the torturers leg, causing the man to be immobile for the rest of his life – if he didn't die of infection.  
Francis finished his enemy just as fast with his mythical sword. He simply stabbed the Bishop into his chest. A man with a lust for killing didn't really deserve to live in Francis' opinion anyway. Peel had never done anything to the Bishop, the nation was sure. It was just a part of corruption that the Bishop wanted to kill him.

"You… you killed me…", the Bishop said. "Isn't that… You're the same as me. You kill for your own wishes."  
But was it really the same? Right, the Bishop hadn't done something to Francis either. Neither was the magician of the frenchman's concern really, being a citizen of the Isle of man and not France.


	10. Chapter 9

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

After they freed Mr. Peel, the magician, they remained in their monk robes and disguised themselves some more. The blood on the fabric didn't really matter, since they couldn't cover up Peel at all. Now, they had to think of where to put him. They left the Abbey in a steady, but not to hurried pace. "Juist pretend everything is normal.", Alasdair said in between grit teeth. The magician was more heavy than he had thought in spite both carried him in between.

They decided to walk through the poorer quarters. Far away from the noblemen, no one would really look at them anyway. Actually, since they were on their way to scotland, they could as well just have taken the magician with them. But Francis was bothered a lot by that thought. Alasdair couldn't do this. And as much as he loved the redhead, he would provide that the magician would soon have to leave. Then, Alasdair came up with a different idea. Something, the blonde hadn't expected.  
"We'll bring him tae th' courtesans… ah ken that thay huv tae deal wi' secrets 'n' sic hings daily. Thay cuid keep him 'n' nurse him. 'N' then mibbie even git tae ken someone wha cuid carry him awa'. Aff, tae anither land, whaur na yin kens him. Thay micht charge us some dosh fur this service, bit it's th' best ah ken."  
"You make it sound reasonable. .. Oui.. that could actually work."

The two young men came to a delighting looking etablissement. The house of the courtesans was squished in between two other houses in a street, but this one looked really appealing with frivole decorations, veils and lace even on the outside, beautiful curtains that graced the windows. And outside there was girls trying to charm and lure customers into their room. As they saw the three men approaching, they were unsure of how to react. They only saw two monks in bloodstained robes and a man who seemed like he was dying.  
Alasdair decided for Francis to talk to the women, since he was more secure with the french. The blonde himself felt rather insecure.

Francis had met courtesans among the french camps during the war. They were kind of creepy and he felt like he would betray Alasdair when he would come closer to any of those. And here he was, ordered by his own husband, to actually flirt and to convince those women to help them.  
"excusez-moi, pourriez-vous nous aider, s'il vous plaît? Nous avons besoin de trouver un séjour en toute sécurité pour cet homme. (excuse me, could you help us, please? We need to find a safe stay for this man.)", the young frenchman began, revealing his face as he lifted the hood.  
The young girls squealed, they were caught right off by the charm of the blonde man with the deep blue eyes. Soon they were gathered around Francis, asking him certain questions. The blonde shot an angry look at Alasdair, who grinned like a cheshire cat. Why was he grinning? Wasn't he fearing that these beautiful young girls were trying to catch his husband?

The prostitutes were cut off and called back by the 'mother of the brothel'. She stalked souveranely towards the three men, asking in a polite manner what their wish were. Francis repeated his question, still confident that this was the only way. The payment was high.  
"Vous pourriez aussi bien le travailler à l'extérieur à notre bordell. (You could as well work it off at our bordell.)", the woman said. She was in her late 40s, but sure knew what she wanted. It was obvious that she had been through tough times.  
Francis just stared at her, then hesitatently translated to Scotland.  
"Whit? she wants us tae become mon whores! whit a boot, I'll ne'er share ye wi' a'body! You're mah guidwife, 'n' that's final! ower ah skelp this mon intae a gutter than huvin tae ken that ye mate wi' some hackit auld bas!", Alasdair spat out some more cussing words. Even the 'mother' understood, what was going on. But before she could say any more, Alasdair opened his wallet and threw some money at the woman. He had kept the money all the way long. Being a scottish, he was more of the kind to keep the money instead of spending it. He lived more on Francis' money, so they got along somehow. Only in emergency, he would use his own – just like now.  
"I love you, Scott…", Fran could only say, being baffled by how possessive he just had been.

The man was left behind at the brothel. Francis and Alasdair had also given the monk robes to the etablissement.

The blonde and the redhead soon left Bourges behind them, continuing their travel across France, following the streets walked by many feet. The environment was still comfortable, filled with green grass, bushes and trees in which birds sang their song.  
"Whit's oor neist heading?"  
"It is Vichy.", Francis stated with a certain grin across his face.  
"…'n'? wid ye mynd telling me something aboot this city?"  
"Oh, It will be a surprise. But believe me, you will never forget Vichy."

The city was rather small and calm. Instead of going for an Inn, Francis led his horse towards a convent. A convent that looked quite open. Also, a few more people than normal were around this place.  
"Monks again? whit's that wi' ye 'n' thaim, wee prince?"  
"Just be patient, renard!"  
The young frenchman talked to a few monks and one of them led them friendly to the stables, chattering towards Francis, seldom looking at the redhead. It was obvious that Alasdair was a foreigner – again.

The garden of the convent was huge and everywhere the smell of herbs, and then something rather disguisting – sulfur!  
"This is tairible, France! how come did ye leid me 'ere? tell me!", Alasdair demanded, grabbing Francis by the arm. The lad just looked at him like he had said something incomprehensive. Not that the scotsman ever laid off his funny accent, expecting the whole world to understand him.  
"I told you, it is a surprise. I cannot say any more. Just bear with this sulfur smell. It is nothing bad about it. Trust me in this.", Francis put on an excusing smile.

The two were led to a room in a pleasant looking house, a bit off the central building of the convent. The room was kept simple. Just two beds, a table with also two chairs, a chest for to put the wardrobe or luggage. And that was all. The only thing that spruced the room was the little wooden cross above the door.  
Another protest was lying on the tongue of the scotsman. He didn't need much, but this room looked very sterile.. simple.. he felt encaged.  
"This room isn't meant for us to spend much time in here. We'll be off to another building. Or more buildings, I don't know. Just leave your stuff here. Come on."  
After having left behind their luggage, and also hid things like money and documents, they locked the room and went out to another larger building. On their way they came to a well. In the middle of that well was obviously a natural fountain that supplied the well with fresh, but slightly bad smelling water. Also, there was signs saying that whoever took water from the fountain, should spill the excess not back into the well.

In the larger building, a monk talked to Francis again, saying in french that everything was prepared. The young frenchman still kept it all a secret. But Alasdair could guess where this was all going to, as he saw the bathtubs in the larger room they entered. The room was spruced with a lot of herbs and decorative ornaments all over the walls. The floor was covered with tiles that were held in warm colours.  
"Is this…some kind o' health resort?", the scotsman asked, he frowned all over the room, then noticed that his companion got undressed and blushed. "Ye wur planning this a' alang, weren't ye?"  
"Oui. Don't you like it? Our travelings will hold even more surprise. It's going to be so much fun. And Oui, I wanted you to remember every single station actually…", the blonde sat down a smaller bench that was on a wall with a few faucets. Also, there was bars of soap, bottles with lotion, and herbs that were aromatising the room. Francis started to wash himself thoroughly.  
After another moment of cluelessness, the redhead joined him.

"I might have to point out.. that this remembers me when we had our first bath together. But Vichy has to offer a lot more. Also massages and special.. things. Like you get covered in this soil, mixed with the water of the vichy sources… They're not so special yet, but every visitor here knows what to talk about to others. Hum, and also there is some internal application. Most meals are cooked with this water and we are to drink from it also.  
But besides that.. I think it will be good just to.. relax. Forget about the war. Wash it all away."  
"Massages, eh? a'm. Nae sure aboot /this/, Francis.", Alasdair had to admit. He watched as the younger nation rinsed off his soapy body. In fact it surely was turning him on. Yet, the other nation seemed unaware of it all.  
"Then you just leave out that part. Or let /me/ do it. You liked my hands, you said a while ago, didn't you?", the blue-eyed chuckled.  
"Na, cheers!", he quickly replied. Now things were getting close. It was a bad idea. He didn't mind getting a bath from time to time, but getting dirty with it was kind of.. contra productive.

Francis hesitated for a moment. "Why are you so tense? This is meant for relaxation…"  
The frenchman went behind the redhead and carefully places his hands onto the broad shoulders. He began to gently knead the muscles through the skin, causing the older nation to moan in relief. Appearantly, the scotsman had never been able to relax at all during his training to become one of the strongest nations…the blonde felt sorry for the older one. What kind of hell must he have been through? He continued working closer to the spine, then a bit up the neck, where also a lot of tension was housed. After a while, France felt like he had worked a good amount.  
"good.. now circulate your shoulders a bit…", a louder cracking was heard, accompanied with some more subtle grinding noises. But it seemed like joints had glitched back into the right place and Alasdair himself looked more relaxed.

Motivated by that, Francis continued in his massage. He began to work along the hair, or the muscles that were wrapped around the skull to be more exact. Gentle, slow motions, light pressing here and there. He also didn't leave out the ears. The soft flesh reddened as he knead them steadily. Then cautiously the muscles of the face. Francis could feel them and was amazed, how many muscles it must take to actually form an expression. He moved his hands carefully so he wouldn't accidentally poke his husband into one or both eyes, leaving him blinded. But Scotland on the other hand was fully enjoying it. The man had closed his vivid emerald eyes and leaned his head back, while the other man tried to balance the weight on one of his arms.  
With a playful smile, the blonde placed a kiss onto the daydreaming Alasdair and giggled.  
"Do you want more?"  
"Mmh..Na. Ah think I'm guid. . Bit we cuid dae sic hings mair often."

"Yup. I think so too. I don't know how it will be over there in your place. Vichy is the only place with this 'water-culture' within France."  
"Weel if thare is na sic steid, we cuid aye dae oor ain. Depending oan howfur mony rooms, we kin huv a room whilk we kin. Decorate lik' this tae huv at least th' same atmosphere."

The next few days they'd only relax. There was also some kind of swimming pool with warmer water. And something like hot springs beneath one of the building. The meals were tasty, but also healthy, so the monks said. The whole experience was but very tense for the two. At a point of time they felt like they were a few centuries younger. The point on which Francis found that it was time to go again.

"It does not do any good if we remain longer. But.. I'll have to look at the map which way to go…Okay. Next one is St.-Étienne. Right now I don't know anything to say about this, but.. I'll remember when we arrived."  
"It's a'richt. I'll trust ye in thare. . Ye keek sae sleepy, wantae huv a nap afore we continue?", Alasdair and Francis had been on their way now for a few weeks. They didn't know how much longer it would take.  
"Non, I'm good. I'll just have to absolutely snap out of this lethargy. And I think we gained weight.", Francis poked his husbands belly.  
"Ah'ament pie-eater?"  
"Then why did you make it sound like a question?", the frenchman laughed and poked some more. Alasdair winced and pretended to be more ticklish than he was.  
"Ah don't ken? stoap this…We wull be loosing pie-eater either, whin we gang yin gawin` a' th' time."  
"Oui.. it is only for a limited time. Hmm…Then let's go, shall we? Or is there something you want to do still?"  
"Aye.", Alasdair kissed his husband swiftly onto the lips. "We kin gang noo."


	11. Chapter 10

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

"I really wonder what it was…. If we had kids.", Francis thought out loud.  
"Thay wid be sae messed up wi' thair mad rocket parents. Thay wid huv tae speak three languages. They'd huv tae ken howfur tae survive in bare wilderness. Mmh. 'n' depending, they'd huv tae ken howfur tae cook 'n' sic things."  
"To make you happy, right?", a smug grin decorated the french face.  
Both were riding their horses rather casualy through the mild climate of the Loire Valley on their way to St.-Étienne. Right now they were sharing a bag of sweet bread.

"They'd be all redheads. I think that your genes are very strong too.", Francis said, looking at the older nation.  
"Nae that it wid trauchle ye. Ye loue mah locks, don't ye?"  
Francis ate for a while before answering, inspecting the red strands that were moved by Alasdairs movements and the wind. The several strands shimmered in various shades of red. Some more light, some more darkish, creating a marvellous depth.  
"Oui, I do."

It had been a long way since they had commenced their travel from Vichy. They had also stopped by smaller towns on their way. Eventually they even found smaller jobs. Helped farm people or something alike. Being a nation does not guarantee a steady income of money. France had lived in the believe that the people of France owed him money, because he lent them 'his body', since he was a nation. When he was a child and before he had married Scotland, he had been around often in his land, getting food and free place to sleep everywhere. But this was only because he didn't need much and the people found him very adorable. Really, who wouldn't love a little, blonde child with happy, blue eyes?  
Alasdair on the contrary did have a harder childhood. Perhaps because he made things harder than they really were. He kept telling Francis that things had become nice since he lived in France.

They arrived in St.-Étienne. The city was also under a lot of constructions. They were not really in a place where a lot of english troops had been, but it seemed after they had left, the french were in the mood for building a lot of things. Either clerical buildings in all sizes and shapes. Or residences for aristrocratic people, which in the end was also good for the normal people. Merchants would come more often to cities in which more important people were, in the hope to get a chance in their life.

Close to St.-Étienne, there was huge mines for coal and iron. The city got profit from that. A lot of smiths came to live here and produced all kinds of things: household items such as pans, pots and knives – but also military items, pieces of armor, full suits of armor, swords, crossbows, daggers – all kinds of weaponry.  
As Francis had promised not to use the 'cursed sword' as much, he decided to buy himself a new weapon. Now the problem was.. which kind of weapon and how to see quality.  
"I hope you could be of help in this matter?", the blonde asked.

"Mmh.. och, Aye. Let's see.", the redhead determined walked through the houses of the blacksmiths, watching closely what weapons they offered. Some looked interested onto the boy, others looked like they were inspected from their mother-in-law.  
"Whit kind o' weapon dae yi'll waant, anyway? You'd huv tae wale that yin afore quality. Dae yi'll waant a broad sword lik' this? . Though ah wid nae recommend that yin. They're heavy 'n' you're…you're fragile, Francis."  
"Merci beaucoup, renard bête…"  
"Don't pout. . C'moan.", Alasdair took his hands. "Noo tell me, wee prince, whit weapon wid be tae yer likings? thare ur an' a' wee'er daggers, normal sized swords, knives that kin be thrown…"

Francis took a look at the metalware. He came to the conclusion that it would make sense to carry two swords instead of sword and shield. This way he could 'catch' the other mans sword with one sword, and attack with the free sword without even caring…But the price was too high. He would only be able to afford a normal sized sword and a sword with half the length. He shared his thoughts with his husband.  
"…and you need new weapons also. The sword you have now is all used. It will break apart. .. you could sell it so we have enough money to buy even more if we'd like."  
"Na. . Juist na. This sword haes served me weel thro' a' th' battles in th' war an…"  
"You get a new one!", Francis grunted. "You're my knight in shining armor, so you do have to get a new one. How are you going to defend us, when your sword breaks apart? The enemy will laugh into your face!"  
"A-aye…"

Scotland got himself a new claymore. They could trade in the old one just easily without even having to pay. The smith said it was fine, celtic steel. The best he had ever seen.  
"You can be really proud about this weapon.", Francis translated. "And I am glad that I have the honour of getting such a wonderful piece. I can learn a lot this way!"  
A small smile filled the face of the redhead. From the offer of the same smith they picked two weapons of Francis choice. The smith was left behind very happy this day.  
The sun was ready to set as they made their way through the streets of the heart of the city. Besides the metalware there was nothing special about this city, why Francis said they could continue their travel right away.  
"When we just go on like this, we will be sooner to your homeland, and we will remain used to be on the way."  
"Aye.", Alasdair yawned. He was actually tired of being around all the time. They had been homeless from the time the war had started.

On the next day, they aimed for Montelìmar. It was not quite around the corner, so they had to keep a steady pace. But Francis promised, that the reward will be tasty this time.  
"There's this special 'Montelìmar-Nougat'. Very tasty. Sweet. You will love it."  
"Whit is Nougat?"  
"Nougat is something.. it's literally translated 'cake made of nuts'. It consists of water, lavender honey, beaten egg whites, roasted almonds, pistachios and syrup. The end product is a rubbery white dough with nuts in there."  
Like as an answer, the scotsman forced his horse to go faster. Sometimes he was just easy to read. Alasdair loved everything that was food, especially candy. Yet, candy was different in those times and rather rare.

The nature changed as they went more south and left the Loire valley. Water in any form became more rare, plants looked dry and thorny and among of all this, cicadas sang their never ending song. The two nations entered the region around the other important river of France, the Rhône.  
"Whit's this buzzing sound? 'n' how come is it sae het?", the scotsman had never been so much south. He was suffering badly. Sweat dripped down his skin, making his clothes more uncomfortable to wear. High noon was very bad, but afternoon seemed even worse.  
Francis didn't seem to care, so the redhead thought. The blonde just wove something, and sometimes leaned over to get even more of the dried grass. After some time it looked like a bowl.  
"Whit urr ye daein', wee prince? urr ye mad?"  
"Oui, I am ma~d. I'm madly in love with you, mon pauvre renard. Here you go…", he placed the 'bowl' onto Alasdairs head. "It might not really help with the heat, but you will not catch a sunburn so easily with my selfmade hat.. .. hey, it looks good on you."  
Unsure of what to say, the redhead tugged at the straw hat. "T-thank you…"

As the evening came, a light breeze came up, along with thunderclouds. They couldn't find a shelter and Francis was startled. He didn't like the lightning. He feared of being struck, and the noise was really irritating too.  
"Come, wee prince. Don't be scared."  
They had hopped off their horses and walked now through the large fields of farmers. The wind and rain hammered merciless onto their bodies. It was strange since at noon the weather had been so nice.  
"We're close to the alpes… the mountain ranges that parts italy from the rest of europe. The weather can change dramatically here."  
"Then. Wur claise tae Italy? He's yer wee brother. Dae ye think we cuid visit him?"  
"Non, I don't think so. He is not at home, but at Austria's house. So is Romano, South Italy."  
"How come is thare twa Italys anyway? thare cuid be twa Frances as weel. . Wi' howfur lairge th' land is."  
"I don't know. It's just like this. Don't ask m- eeeeh!", Francis yelped and clinged to his horse as thunder crashed very close to them. If it hadn't rained, the crops would be aflame by now.

"Thare, a barn!", Alasdair pointed to a lonely house admidst all the crops. There was trees beside, so chances were low that lightning struck this house. People have found out, that lightning always chooses the shortest way from sky to earth. The trees were definetly taller.. and also looked like they had caught one or more of those electric shocks in place of the barn.  
Both were more than happy to enter the barn. … Inside it was dark and warm. Flocks of hay were lying around, inviting to lay upon. The horses were also inside, but didn't bother as much.

In the next morning, the farmer's daughter was surprised, to find two men sleeping naked in the hay. They had obviously undressed themselves as their clothes were totally wet. They were still moist as the daughter had found them.  
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle…", Francis started, still tired. It was just too early in the day. Why do have farmers and their family always be so early?  
"Nous avons..(we have)", Alasdair tried, quickly covering Francis and himself in one movement with a moist blanket they had with them.  
"Nous sommes venus ici la dernière nuit, en raison de la forte pluie. (We came here last night because of the heavy rain). Merci de nous laisser rester. (Thanks for letting us stay)", Francis quickly said.  
The maid just stood there for a moment and then ran away screaming.

"…You scared her.", the blonde gave his husband a big pout. Alasdair just laughed and shook his head.  
"Wi' th' taps aff waither 'ere in sooth France, oor hings wull freuch quickly. 'ere, git dressed.", the redhead tossed him his pants. "'n' seriously, ah wonder if ye don't cop pity, whin you're naked…"  
"Why would I be ashamed, when naked? It's only a natural thing. It's god's artwork. Every body is, to be precise. Why should it be covered anyway?", Francis said, but still dressed in pants.  
"God's artwork, eh? . Ah huv ne'er heard a mair streenge thing.", the scotsman mumbled, getting himself ready as well. Pants were enough for now. They hung the other fabrics over the horses to let them dry, and then moved the horses out of the little barn.

The air was fresh, cleared from the thunderstorm last night. But still, one could feel the temperature rising for the mid-day heat. Also, the cicadas had taken up their song again.  
Dutyfull, Alasdair put on the hat, Francis had made him the other day.  
At noon they arrived at the beautiful town called Montelìmar. There was a sweet odour all over the place.  
"Ah loue this steid awready. Noo, whaur is that nougat? a'm waantin' some, I'm hungert.", Alasdair said, snuggling close to Francis and somehow managing to keep leading his horse through the town.  
"There's no stopping Scotty when he's hungry.", the blonde giggled and nuzzled his lover. "You'll get your nougat, when we found a place to tie our horses. Look, there's this Inn."

Only 10 minutes later, a happy scotsman was sitting there, devouring his nougat bites. Francis couldn't even talk him into eating something more healthy before. The blonde was amused how Alasdair could keep a straight face when experience told the frenchman that the man really was happy. Francis took off Alasdairs hat and kissed his hair. "Je t'aime."  
"Tha gaol agam ort, wee prince."

Francis sat beside the older man and unfolded the map of France. It was a rather old map. Perhaps inaccurate to 20th/21st century standarts, but still good. It held the root that the frenchman planned. The next few cities didn't offer as much, so he thought. They might as well just pull through. The next city, alas was of very much interest. A smile pulled at the pinkish lips. It seemed as if they were going to have a long enjoyable journey before heading to the cool island in the north. France would have to save all these imagines in his mind. Before he had noticed, a little drabble made of pencil was made by his hand onto the map. "Och, merde…"  
"Whit happened?"  
"I .. I drabbled onto the map.", the blonde put on a hurt look.  
Alasdair laughed. "Don't be dowie, wee yin, I'll buy ye anither map. Please smile again."  
The frenchman hesitated but managed to put on a weak smile.

_  
this chapter, again, is filled with the most adorable fluff w Is what I love about them


	12. Chapter 11

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Their next city went by the name ‚Orange'. And just like the name implied, the air was filled by the smell the citrus fruits produced that hung on the trees everywhere. The air was dazzling with heat. For Scotland almost unbearable. It would have been worse without the hat. They were wearing much less still. Mostly only pants. And so, very soon, Alasdair was sunkissed. His chest and arms were fiery red and the man kept complaining about how stingy it was.  
"See? This is why I made a hat for you.. but unfortunately it cannot cover all. I'm so sorry, Alasdair!"  
"Ngh… We mist gang north again. Thare sic thing wull nae happen. By th' wey…How come isn't yer skin affected? ye keek juist normal."  
"That's because it's either my land, or it is because you're extra sensitive, because you're a redhead. You've always been more pale than me. But now we know that you shouldn't go across this line. Not more south than … let's say, St.-Étienne. And I promise you, we will soon go north again."  
Alasdair nodded. He didn't dare to touch the red traces on his skin.

An idea came to the mind of Francis. They halted their horses somewhere and Francis went to a Doctor. The doctor was, in spite of all the heat around, covered in a black cloak and wore a white-silverish mask with a long beak. Back in those times, doctors would also sell medication like any pharmacist. The frenchman bought a large flask of some questionable liquid.  
The blonde returned to his lover and both seeked for some shades under trees. Just as they sat down, Francis began to smear some amount of the liquid over the reddened skin. Alasdair moaned as he felt the cool paste of whatever-it-was. He didn't mind as long as it seemed to help.  
"There, is this better? Tell me, if you have more of the red skin somewhere. And never, never(!) take off that hat! …Something tells me that you will get sunkissed in your face also.", Francis took a closer look into his husband's face. Indeed, there was red to come. "Better.. euh.. just in case, I'll smear some of this stuff there also."  
The liquid had a minty colour, which came from the herbs that were in there. If the blonde hadn't feel so sorry for his lover he would have laughed.

"If you want, we can also do it.. so that we only travel at night. I also know of a few things here, that can be enjoyed at night. Like a stalactite cave or an antique theatre."  
"Whit's a stalactite cave?", the poor sod asked, staring at the light green liquid on his arm.  
"First of all it's a cave…"  
"Jahaha.. Aye~..nevermind, gang oan."  
"Oui. .. Well, it is a cave with stalactites. The stalactites are .. 'thorns of stone'. It is hard to explain in english. fichu l'anglais!"  
"Aww, Brassic wee prince~"  
"Anyway, that are… Needles or thorns of stone hanging from the ceiling. They have mostly also a counterpart, the stalagmite."  
"Howfur kin ye memorise thair name? thay sound sae…Th' same."  
"Uhm.. well… stalac…tites… sound like.. tits. And they hang...", Francis stammered with a sheepish grin. Alasdair burst out into laughter. .. But, you can say for sure that he never mistook the stalactite with the stalagmite.

Francis in the meantime wondered if he was gay. He had never thought of … having an affair with a woman. There had always been Alasdair in the place. Always the scotsman. There was nothing wrong with that. The redhead was all he had ever dreamed of. And now, what if Alasdair disappeared eventually? They spend 24 hours all week together, but you could say for sure that things wouldn't always remain the same. Like just before the hundred years war. Alasdair had just disappeared all of sudden.  
And what about Alasdair himself? He had once said that the 'lady o' th' lake' had taught him how to kiss. How much truth was in there? Was Francis really the first for him? Had there been other girls.. or even guys?  
And then again, there was not a large choice. Most nations appeared to be males. The scotsman would definetly slap him for having such thoughts.

"Sae, … whaur ur thae. Thae caverns?", the redhead ask, still with a broad grin across his face.  
"Je ne sais pas (I don't know), but we could ask a citizen. Someone will know where they are. … Do you want to go right away? Or shall we get something to eat?"  
"Mmh.. eat. Fairn wid be crakin'. …Mh, damn this sunburn."  
"Don't worry, you should be used to people staring at you - but not for some green liquid. And also… one more city and we will turn back northwards. Now, I don't have that planned, but if you want, we can visit the mediterranean sea, while we're here. It's very close. ..We will also be able to see an ocean soon."  
"An ocean? Is that bigger than a sea?", Alasdair raised one of his bushy eyebrows.  
"An ocean is the largest … 'sea' you will ever see. It is water to no end…euh.. besides that you could see to the end of the world. After this ocean, there is /nothing/. The world is flat as you know, and we're most likely to a border here. The most western thing I know is portugal."

After a short rest, they went to eat something at a smaller Inn. At the Inn they also got told, where the cave with the amazing stones was. The waitress also secretly told them that gems had been found sometimes at such caves and that people were actually forbidden to take these gems with them. So if they'd see something to their likings they'd have to be cautious.  
Both nations had their thoughts on this. Gems from a cave? The other one would like that for sure.

at the afternoon, where the sun was still hot, but wind had come up, the two made their way to the cave. Alasdair had washed away most of the oily paste that was to cover his skin, just to wear a top and not smear the cream into the clothes which would have turned out nasty.

The cave itself was really cool. It was nothing like the burning heat outside. Inside, pillars of stone, of calcium carbonate to the exact, formed from both the ceiling and the floor, creating the image of fangs. Whoever would enter this cave would get the impression of entering the mouth of a wild beast like a bear. But more than this, some stones even glimmered and glittered in the light the visitors had brought with them. A torch helped them finding their way through the cave that usually was in utter darkness. Also interesting was that some of the stones made a form that looked like wax from a candle that had dripped, but the drops would have been petrified forever. As a auditive background, a constant dripping was heard. The air was moist, but also salty.

"This is amazin' ", Alasdair whispered, looking at the several calcium pillars that were in various shades of colours, from grey to red.  
"And creepy.", Francis added, scanning the surroundings for gems. Not that he was greedy, he just liked.. gems. Pleasant looking things. He didn't even realised what he was thinking. But really, he felt like he needed some shiny things after all this warfare.  
It is also known, that stalactites drip water (along with the calcium to actually create their counterparts, the stalagmites). One of the water drops dripped onto the back of Francis' neck, which made him jump into his lover. "Gyah!"  
"France! .. Ye scared me. Whit happened?"  
"So-something …I got water here.", the blonde said, rubbing the back of his neck.  
"Aye, ye dae.", Alasdair put on a fatherly smile and leaned over to kiss Francis' neck. "Better?"  
"Oui…"

At times like these, Francis felt himself warped back to the time at the beginning of their marriage, where he had been a child really. Would that ever change? Would there be a time in which Francis could protect Scotland?  
They continued their trip through the cave. Eventually, Alasdair found some shimmering stones. It was Pyrite, a stone with silverish gleam and steel like structure, often formed into cubes. He just picked it up and put it into his pocket, making sure, Francis would not see any of that.

Francis was a few steps further anyway, and was sure that he had found a gem, he was sure to be one of the oldest of the world: Agate. It had a certain colourisation. Just out of interest, the frenchman had read a lot about any kinds of gems. Never had he thought that there would be a day in which he would actually find one of them. … Since there was more than one, he also took more. A good thing to sell, even though they would still need to be polished.

"Git everything?"  
"Oui. .. Allons-y (let's go)~", Francis chirped softly and joined Alasdair again.  
They found their way outside with not much problem since they hadn't been able to go inside far either.  
Outside, the setting sun awaited them.  
"Have we really been inside the cave for so long? It didn't appear for me so."  
"Me neither. . Bit we shuid keep oor cristals hidden."  
"Quoi? How do you know!", Francis knew, he had make sure that Alasdair hadn't seen him.  
"… ah ken ye.", the redhead gave the smaller man a friendly nudge. "Ah don't ken whit ye git, though."  
"Mmh.. something nice. You will see. .. Je t'aime."

After they had went out for dinner, they decided to go to the theatre. An old play was being pulled off. It was spoken in old occitanian language that the frenchman somewhat understood. Occitania was the southwest area, that had just joined the french kingdom. He didn't know languages from such areas, be it occitanian or bretonian (gaelic), but a faint memory was laid into his head, the seed for to learn these languages.  
Besides from the language problem, the act was quite obvious. It was about a daughter that didn't want to listen to her father and married a guy she shouldn't marry. They ran off, but got caught … in the end, the girl had poisoned herself and the guy she had loved was forced to labour before he as well killed himself.  
For Francis, all of this was very touching. He loved Alasdair just as dearly, but.. it was an arranged marriage. Would Scotland stop to love him, once the alliance was over? But this was silly. The Alliance had been over centuries now.

The two nations had drunken a bit of cheap wine at the theatre and were pretty drunk as they went back to the Inn. The Innkeeper was rather annoyed, but just shushed at the two young men.

On the next morning, both had a heavy hangover and could only manage to get started shortly after high noon.  
Their next goal took them to the city called Nîmes.

"This city… ugh.. is the most south we will get. .. Écosse, why you not speak french to me? My head still hurts."  
"Is this yer foremaist hangover?"  
"My what?"  
"Hangover… whin ye huv headaches th' day efter ye wur blootert."  
"Oui… I guess so… Ugh…Last time I felt so sick, was when.. ..", Francis didn't dare to make a reference to their wedding day.  
"Whin whit?"  
"Nothing… nothing…"

Half an hour later they arrived in Nîmes. At this time of the history, it only offered an amphitheater, a ancient maison carrée and an aqueduct. So much for sightseeing with buildings on the other hand, they could just have a quick trip to the mediterranean sea.  
They didn't make much out of the amphitheatre, after they had been to a theatre just the other night. Then, the maison carrée.. they just took a glance at it.

They just wanted to leave the maison carrée as a familiar voice called out behind them.  
"Leaving-a so soon? Have you-a really seen everything-a?"  
"Quoi?"  
"This is.. impossible?  
The faces of Scotland and France hardened as they turned around to face Rome. What on earth did the guy want here?

"Ye're a deid nation, aren't ye?"  
"Well I am-a … retired. Not dead. And I just-a wanted to see how my son and my son-in-law doing-a.", a bright smile plastered across the ancient nation's face.  
"hé bien, we were doing just greately, before you came. So you can go right now. Adieu. Byebye~", Francis waved, grabbing Alasdairs arm in hope that they might just get rid of the old man quickly.  
"Why leave so soon?", Rome said, suddenly behind the two of them and hanging an arm onto the shoulder of each one.

"What do you want!"  
"I want to show you more. … since Nîmes, as you call it today, is a city built for my sake. It was before I got you from your mother, Francis.", Rome winked and led them around, like some tourist guide. He also showed them the aqueduct outside.  
Scotland had to admit that he was fascinated how the romans had been able to lead water around with the aqueducts.. since the water had to get in there and stay there to get to the destinated area. .. But he also hated Rome with a passion. The bastard had built huge walls to cut the redhead off from his mother and Cymru (Wales) and his mother. Since Alasdair had been so very young back then it hadn't helped either that his men had been able to climb those walls. He had been a young child and therefore unable.  
The heat was also helping to raise his rage level to the unthinkable. Rome had never seen that fist flying at him…  
And instead of stopping the raging redhead, Francis started to knock down his father as well. As they left, there was only a bloody puddle of what was Rome.

"The weather is nice…", a happy grinning frenchman said.  
"Aye. .. Let's gang thare. We haven't bin thare yit.", the scotsman pointed to the blue carpet that was the mediterranean sea.  
"Oui, let's go…"


	13. Chapter 12

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

After their adventurous time in the south of France, our two nations finally headed northwards again. Also had France changed their route so they would head north even more soon. He hadn't expected for Scotland to be so sensitive with the sunlight and temperature. But no problem in there.  
The next city they were about to enter was Millau, admidst of a lot of mountains and valleys. It got even more exhausting to ride up and down always.

"This is the.. Gorge du Tarn. .. I got told that my chin represents this part.. hmm.. every nation has something like that. So I have heard.", Francis explained. Alasdair possibly thought he was stupid now. .. Yet again.. not more stupid than usual.  
"Pure? Interesting…", the redhaired man moved his horse forward. He looked over the large valley. The distance was almost unbearable. The highlands in north of scotland were also majestic, but France here was a whole different thing. Larger, perhaps. Also it became obvious that if they took the wrong route, they would get lost. There was a natural rocky maze at the base of the mountains they were standing on. "Dae ye ken a save wey? ah don't wantae sling yer hook."  
"Mhm."

The next few cities were also not that important to the two. Mostly they just continued their travel, stopping at an Inn for the night or buying new groceries. Or doing little tasks for to get some money.  
They passed Albi and Cahors... and finally reached Bordeaux. Bordeaux was a richer city. Unlike the others there was still some profit after the english had left. The harbour was large and a lot of wine farmers lived close.  
But for one day, Francis went outside Bordeaux with his lover – to show the largest wandering dune in europe.

The 'Dune du Pilat', was real wide. But you could still see the ocean on one side and a vast forest on the other side. It was like god had just slipped some piece of desert on a part of the western coast of France.  
"Ah huv ne'er seen anythin' lik' that.", the scotsman had to admit.  
"I bet so…", Francis sat down on the soft sand and played with the almost liquid mass of stone. He also took off his boots and let the sand twirl around his toes. Then he faced towards the ocean. "But isn't that wonderful? All of this.. makes you feel small. But then again being this … this earth… How can we be nations before this powerful nature?"  
"Ah don't ken. Ah ne'er. Pure wondered.", Alasdair sat beside Francis and looked into the same direction. This whole thing was like a miracle. Also, the weather. Back in scotland, but also in the normandy, there had always been a few clouds. Rain was nothing extra ordinary. But here, there was no trace of rain. Not even a reminder. He had no idea how things were so much south. And yet they were already heading back north.  
The redhead noticed how the plants became greener again. Also, the cicadas' song wasn't as dominant anymore.  
Now, it seemed like a dream that he had ever traveled so far.

Francis yawned and laid flat onto the sand. But then a sudden blow of wind made him sit up again. "Blargh, damn this sand! I ate some!"  
Alasdair laughed softly. He was still baffled by the greatness of nature. But were they really nations? All of this what he had seen was France. All of it. Without doubt, this land was larger than Scotland. After some further thought, he decided to show Francis the awesomeness of Scotland as well!  
"We could sit here until the sun sets. .. It always sets in this direction after all. I also heard that .. even more southwards, when you are on the mediterranean sea, the moon is incredibly big. .. I have never been more south than Rome."  
"Mmh.. Howfur come, ye wur thare? in Rome's hoose?"  
"He is my father. He took me from Gaul, my mother. I don't remember her face. Rome took me when I was only a few years old. I only know because he brags on how he conquered Gaul, and thus won this place. People also say, that she is not my mother. The 'Franks' came here to take the place. The frankish empire covered the north of Italy, the west of the holy roman empire, and parts of France as it is.. without those that joined after the 100years war. Northern Italy moved out first. That must have been when Rome took the youngest of my brothers and went away, leaving only the holy roman empire and me.  
Eventually, the holy roman empire and I split as well. The only one that kept the name was me – France."  
"Ah see. .. Or Francis."  
"I don't know who named me Francis. It is not very creative. …Where do you know Rome from, by the way?"

"Ah ken him. Fur a'm gey old… mh. Ah wis 'born' aroond th' year that ye wid ca' 84. Th' romans wur aye a mighty power throo'oot europe. Various tribes cam frae ireland 'n' anglo saxony. Some wur cried pikt, ithers wur th' skyths. Ah think 'Scot' comes frae th' 'skyths. Anyway, th' romans hud built fortressess 'n' walls. Ah wis cut aff frae mah fowk. 'twas an' a' th' lest time a clocked mah mither.  
Thare wis warriors frae mah tribe wha fought th' romans, 'n' wur an' a' able tae climb thae walls. Bit ah wis tae wee. … 'n' whin everything wis ower, mah mither wis gaen. 'n' then thare wis th' anglo saxons. Thay settled 'n' appearantly didn't mind that some o' thaim wur an' a' among mah fowk. Thay fought fur land, fur ownership, ah jalouse. …Mh, ah jalouse aroond that time 'twas that we foremaist met.", Alasdairs lips formed a shy smile.  
"Ah hud ne'er seen a mair funnae coupon aroond that steid."  
"Funnae coupon? I'm fucking beautiful~", Francis said with a funny voice and laughed. Scotland joined the laughter.

It was getting late, so they headed back to Bordeaux.  
"We could help some farmers here. It is just the season to harvest grapes. Then there's the wine feast, I talked about some time ago. I am so~ looking forward to it."  
"Ah wull be blootert."  
"Oui."  
"It cuid be dangerous."  
"Beautiful danger, if it implies you."  
"Amurnay bonny."  
"Oui, you are."  
With a grunt, Alasdair ended that argument. They were back at their Inn, and ready for bed. Snuggling together in the sheets had only been interrupted by the unbearable heat. But both found that they were unable to go on without the other.  
True, that it had been an arrangement. A forced wedding. But they were just grown together, fitted together like a key into a locked.

The next morning, Francis and Alasdair walked to a wineyard. Just a random one they had picked.  
The farmer was more than happy to have some young men to help. He had only daughters, and the few sons he had, had died during the war. Many young men had died through the war.  
"Way too many.", the farmer said in french and gave each one a basket and told them to only pluck the grapes that had no 'bad parts' or whatsoever.

"Huv ye ever bin tae a harvest lik' this afore, Francis?"  
"Non. .. Not really. But I know how it is done."  
"It's a pairt o' ye, isn't it?", the redhead chuckled. It appeared that the wee prince adapted more and more things from his people. Being a formidable cuising being one of this. Now he wondered what his own people were known for, besides Haggis, Whisky and fighting down random englishmen. There had to be something.

"…Dae ye think ah git a tan?", Alasdair asked after a while. The grape-crops were so high that they were isolated from the other workers.  
"Mh? .. What kind of question is that?", but Francis also wondered. Now, the redhead must have gotten darker. As the scotsman held his arm next to Francis' to compare, it was clear that Francis got really dark. The redhead cursed wildly.  
"… Don't be mad. ..Here, have a grape.", Francis winked and sticked one into his mouth.  
There was some changes about the blonde the redhead wasn't sure. Was he older? Yes, perhaps this was it.

Eventually on afternoon the sun was too much for Alasdair and he sat in the shades of an old oak tree. From there he could still watch the other labourers doing their share.  
He was looking forward to the actual wine feast in the middle of the city. But for now, he also wished to go back to his homeland. And to see Cymru (Wales) and Éire (Ireland). If they had grown up to Teenagers now as well?  
Now Francis became more and more beautiful every day. Alasdair wondered where this might end. And then again Francis said, that he himself was beautiful, and said that England wasn't at the same time. Was it because England had hurt Francis so badly as he had burned the Maid of Orléans? Or because England was so funny when he was annoyed by the teasing?

Taking his thoughts to his youngest sibling, it took him back to the times in which they had been children. When Arthur and Alasdair had been alone, they would often play 'hunting' with Arthur being a rabbit and Alasdair a hunter – or a fox moreover. Mercilessly he had chased the young lad through the woods. He would always find him. Either because Arthur was clumsy, or because the fairies had helped him. Yes, Alasdair could see the fairies as well. Mythical figures had always been part of the scottish history. They might have been different from his siblings' fairies, but still fairies.

Then Loch Ness… Nessie was missing him badly, definetly.  
Nessie had been the nice girl that had watched over him when he was so very young. He had been cut off from his mother and went sobbing silently through the wilderness until his eyes were met by a larger lake, a 'loch', as the scottish were calling it. Nothing and no one was there. But the boy felt so tired that he just tripped over some rocks and dropped into the dark water. It was no use in swimming to the next shore, his clothes were soaked in no time and dragged him down. In panic he waddled, trying to escape the cold grave.  
Suddenly, his weight was lifted by something massive. A larger green body in the form of a 'plesiosaurus' was swimming underneath him and had just saved the child. If it hadn't been Nessie, no one had come to look out for that boy.  
The young redhead woke later to find that he'd been saved by the wet and green beast. The thing had even set up some food for him – raw fish. It was the best he had ever eaten.

"Alasdair…? .. it's no use, he's asleep. .. how cute.", the frenchman murmured.  
After hesitating for a while, but also staring at the cute, peaceful expression, he picked him gently up, and carried him over back to their Inn in the city. He didn't care how many people were finding it odd. On moments like this, Francis just felt his heart clench. Moreover he figured that 'arranged wedding' didn't matter at all.  
What's essential is not visible to the eyes – and what truly matters is in the heart, he concluded.

Late on that evening, Alba woke up.  
"Whi… ? Whaur am ah?", he could have sworn he had been sitting beneath some oak tree.  
"Bonsoir, renard. You were asleep, so I carried you back to our Inn. Have you slept well?", Francis placed a kiss onto the man's cheek.  
"Ugh.. Juist...Gimme five minutes. 'n' some cooncil juice. "  
"D'accord. Be right back.", Francis took the washbowl from the commode and went outside to get some fresh water. He knew just as well that getting up in the morning became more exhausting now that they had reached a certain age. They were very old men after all. Alasdair was.. .. he must be way over 1400 years old!  
The frenchman blinked. He had never thought about it this way. He pondered a bit himself.  
"Not much longer and I will also reach my 1000 years.", Francis murmured, as he came back in with the water.

"Whit did ye say?", slurred the redhead as he strut over to the commode where the washbowl was placed, and began to wash himself sporadic, just to wash away the tiredness.  
"Th' winefeast aye oan?"  
"Yea, tonight!", Francis enthusiastically said. "There will be torches everywhere. Huge bassins for to squish the wine. Grapes, snacks and beverages everywhere.. and the wine leftovers from last season, that must be devoured! You will absolutely enjoy it, mon amour!"  
"Soonds like…an orgy."  
"I know, right? But it will be so much fun! And you can leave your hat behind here also, if you want."  
"Nae!", Alasdair put on a childish face and walked over to pick up his hat.  
Francis snorted. "I get it … but just give it to me. I must add a cord, or you might loose it."  
"Aye…", unwillingly, the scotsman gave the hat to his wife, who wove a cord to the hat.  
"There you go."  
Satisfied, the taller man put the hat back on.

The night was burning. Everywhere torches and lights. Bordeaux assembled the night sky. Young and old people – but no children were around the grand squares, that were connected with large streets. And just like Francis had said, there was tables everywhere with all kinds of food, but lighter food so the party people wouldn't have any trouble.  
And also everywhere vats filled with ripe grapes from the crops. The people had to wash their feet before entering such a vat as well. The juicy content of the vats, the squished grapes that were ready to transform into wine, was drained by a tap that was installed close to the bottom of the vat. People took turns in changing the full bucket for an empty – and emptying the full bucket into a barrel. The barrels were loaded into a charriot and brought back to the vineyard they had come from. Or to the house where the farmer stored his wines, to be more precise.

"This is.. woah. .. juist woah.", Alasdair said, staring at the crazy people.  
"Oh, soon we will be one of them. Don't worry. Here, drink this.", Francis offered his lover a glass of wine and took one himself.  
Soon enough, after some glasses, they were drunk as well.  
The frenchman invited Alasdair to go into one of these vats. They washed each others feet and then walked in there via some makeshift wooden stairs.  
"Hahaha, this feels.. funnae!", Alba giggled and walked across the vat, feeling the soft juicy fruits beneath his feet.  
"And I seriously wonder.. what would it be like to mix white with red wine…", Francis slurred, following Scotland like some stubborn puppy. He tripped and fell, his face accidentally into Alasdairs butt.  
"Whit? ye pure wantae dae it 'ere 'n' noo? . Ye naughty wee frenchman…", the redhead helped his lover up and kissed him fiercely.  
"Mmh.. Alasdair… you sexy beast~"

Catholic priest never liked these sort of feasts. They had noticed, that 9 months later, there was a whole new generation of babys – of which the mothers didn't know who the father was. And the mothers became younger and younger too.  
They couldn't prohibit this feast either, as much as they wished for to do so.


	14. Chapter 13

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Francis and Alasdair left Bordeaux after a week. A good amount of grapes were harvested and ready to enter the long process to transform into wine. The more north they got, the more comfortable Scotland became. But he still refused to set off his straw hat. It was like.. glued onto his head. Francis didn't mind as much, since the wheat yellow of the hat fitted well to the wine red of Scotland's hair. It was then that he noticed that they had the haircolour of the other one's national drink. The blonde of Francis hair was like Whisky while Alasdairs hair was obviously the same as wine.

The next city they reached was Saintes. It was a rather religious city with a lot of churches that were built or about to be build. Also it had a smaller amphitheatre.  
After Saintes, there were with no cities for a longer time. Only smaller towns of which not all would survive. It was just the corner close to the new region, the bretagne. The bretagne was just 'Brittany', while the large island in the north was the ‚great brittany', or rather ‚great britain'. It was no coincidence that they bore that same name. First of all, Bretagne had been long time a celtic nation. Bretonic was a very significant, celtic language. Francis wondered, if Alasdair could understand this language, since gaelic resembled bretonic to the ears of the frenchman.

Nantes wasn't quite in the bretagne (as in french region as it is nowadays), but so close that it had a bretonic name at least. By then the two nations had also entered the Loire valley again.  
Our nations didn't spend much time around the cities now that Francis had marked as their checkpoints. They still got souvenirs here and there, but didn't interfer. Both grew very excited to see the scottish highlands.  
After Nantes followed Pontchâteau, Vannes, Lorient, Quimper… and finally Brest, the later-on capital of the Bretagne Region of France. On there it was decided that they would take a ship towards Ireland.

"Do you know what city we will land on in Ireland?"  
"Howfur am ah suppose tae ken?", Scotland replied. "It's up tae th' captain. Ah juist hawp, Éire haes received oor message. . Howfur lang wis it noo?"  
"3 months, 1 week and 4 days."  
"Howfur did ye keep track o' that?"  
"I'm your wife. I must know such things, right?", Francis winked.  
"Ye seem tae be proud o' that fact …", Alasdair smirked. It was a total win for him to have Francis as his wife. For him, there had never been another.  
"hé bien, I am. … But now.. the weather isn't good. There might be no ship that is going to take us to Ireland."

A frown twisted France's forehead into folds as they walked downtown towards the harbour. If things would come hard, they'd have to sell their horses. It was rare for people to take horses onto ships or boats, except for military acts. For when horses were needed after the soldiers had set foot over a river or sea.  
The harbour was gigantic. All kinds of ships and boats from all price ranges anchored there. From military ships down to private fishing boats. There just had to be one of them that would take the two safely towards Ireland.

The two ended up in a bar and Francis wasn't feeling too well about this. The room reeked and the people there looked really aggressive. He clinged to his husband.  
The people here not only spoke bretonic. Since it was a well-visited harbour, they spoke all kinds of languages. However, the people here looked like harsh, stocky men from the north, their faces drenched from any emotion, drawn with the feather of constant fight against waves and weather.  
"Come.. let us go..somewhere else…", Francis begged, looking up at the redhead. The redhead however seemed to ignore him.  
"Is thare someone 'ere wha cuid git us tae Ireland?", Alasdair said with a loud and clear voice – but still with the gibberish of his scots accent.

An eerie silence filled out the room. A dozen men stared wildly at the couple. Francis paled and hid behind Alba, cursing the redhead in his mind for being like this.  
Then, a fatherly-looking man stood up and spoke to them. "Yes. If you can pay, that is."  
The man had long, straight blonde hair that was tied into a ponytail and a heavy beard that fell over his belly. Besides that he wore typical clothing of an admiral. An admiral that might have served the english army in the 100 years war – but without the armor.

"Aye, We kin pay.. Ugh. Francis, th' dosh.", Alasdair grabbed France's sleeve and dragged the poor, shivering thing from behind his back.  
"I don't want your trash!", the man said roughly, making a punching motion. "I didn't say that you are to give me little coins. Can't use them anyway. Worthless french money… "  
He cursed a bit under his breath. It was obvious that he indeed was an englishman.  
"I want you on my ship. .. then we will see what you can do. Now follow me."  
"O..okay, kin we tak' oor horses wi' u-"  
"Yea, take your poodles with you, but hurry. I don't want to wait for you two gays."

"Écosse, I am scared. .. I don't think we should trust this man.", Francis hissed at the redhead. This was purely brilliant!  
"Calm doon…He insae th' traitor kind. He is juist honest.", Alasdair replied while he untied both horses. He gave one bridle to Francis and they followed the strange englishman down to a larger ship.  
As they came on board, Francis noticed that the man stroked the board of the ship lovingly. Yes, he caressed the ship like it was a lover. A beautiful woman.  
Either this was a sign of how insane the man was .. or it was real passion, which would have brought credit.

"Bring your horses down. Yes, here. We don't want them to get hurt, right, gays? And now – real men's work! I said, you don't have to pay in coins, so I say you pay with your body's labour. You will sail the ship, I navigate. As easy as that.", the captain exclaimed. "Is that understood?"  
"Aye."  
"I can't hear you – Louder!"  
"A…AYE!", the nations replied in unison.  
"Thins out the anchor!"  
"Aye!"  
"Set the sails!"  
"Aye!"

Soon enough, the ship got to move out of the harbour. The course was rather curvy and the captain got mad – especially on Francis who didn't look much of a warrior.  
"Get your ass moving, you little sissy! No, that's not how you make a sailor's knot! Didn't your parents teach you anything? Goddamnit, If I have to do everything, I gonna feed you to the fishes! French bitch!"  
Francis just got nervous and tried his best to rush over the ship, doing everything right. Alasdair on the other hand didn't seem to have a problem and looked rather relaxed and like he had never been somewhere else but on this ship.

At Evening, the captain served them a little meal. No clue where he had that from, but also both nations were too tired to even ask.  
"But don't expect me to give you a long slumber. You never know what happens on the sea. We have to take turns to check on the course. You, redhead, seem to know how to handle a compass. You take the morning shift, alright?  
And you, french fuck, take the midnight shift. I will show you how it is done. Go to sleep now."

France was glad to be left off the hook for now and snuggled into the hammock that was set up for him, next to Alasdair who soon snored deep in his sleep. Despite his sleepyness, Francis remained awake for a while, thinking about many things. One of them was Ireland, Alasdairs brother. He had seen the boy last on the wedding. He must have grown from back then. Perhaps he was a young man now too…

The midnight shift was not as stressful as Francis had thought. He just had to watch that they kept the course. Moreover he feared to fall asleep. After a few hours (they had an hourglass), he woke Alasdair softly and went back to sleep again.

On the next day they arrived on Ireland, at the harbour of Cork. The travel with the ship to Ireland was of course way longer than from France to England. Francis was very very glad to leave this 'ship of hell', and thought to himself that he would take long hours of sleep once he'd get the chance to it.  
The irish brother expected the two nations at the harbour.  
"Dia duit, mo dheartháir! Hello, my brother-in-law!", the bright redhead called out, with a very happy face. He was indeed a young man now. He looked alot like Alasdair, but was still shorter, the same size as Francis. His hair had more the colour of carrots, and his skin was over and over decorated with freckles. Just like the other members of the Kirkland family, he had those forest green eyes and very thick eyebrows. His human name was Seoirse (George) O'Kirkland.

"Latha math!", the scottish redhead answered in scottish gaelic, just as cheerful.  
The two redheads exchanged a few phrases in their two versions of gaelic, hugged each other heartfelt and for Francis it just seemed like Scotland had just duplicated himself. After the shock on the ship, he just had to laugh over this picture. The two were just so very cute!

"I cared for your things. Right now they're just at my place. I didn't know, where in scotland you wanted to put up your new home.", George exclaimed, leading the two newcomers to his residence in Cork.  
"This is a crakin' hoose, ye huv, wee brother.", Alasdair said as they all entered. The horse were given to the stables' boy.  
"And you even have servants. It seems you have quite a luxurious life here, hm?"  
"Bhuel, ar ndóigh (well, of course), I'm the nation here. And I am in good relation with my kings. I'm kind of.. a duke. It's really cool."  
"Pure? I'm proud o' ye.", the older redhead patted the younger one's head.  
"It's been a long time after that little white bird here left the message. ...What have you done all the time?", George took Pierre from the stick he had installed somewhere in his bookshelf.

George gave out a rich Dinner with mutton ragout, vegetables and some salad. The three men talked all the evening deep into the night about what they had done like almost the last 100 years... which actually made them sound old. But they /were/ old!  
"Oy, why didn't you eat the sheep's eye, Francis? It's a privilege for the guest."  
"Uughh.. hé bien, Alasdair is also a guest. He can have my eye.. ehh..my... you know!"  
"Naenae.. It's yer privilege. Whin ye decline it, it's gey impolite. Ah shuid huv tellt ye, wee prince.", Alasdair's smile was now very broad.  
Francis paled. Two pairs of green eyes were staring at him, expectantly. But he couldn't eat a sheeps eye! He just didn't want to eat something that was staring at him as well! It felt like it was the worst place to be. Now to think of it.. what was worse? The ship or to eat this eye? Now he was to go through both!  
He prodded the eye with the knife. Back then they didn't use forks as much, calling them a 'sinful weakness'. The blonde frenchman frowned at the eye, let his gaze wander over other things he could mix to deafen the taste. The sauce was very spicy, so he decided to have some of that – along with veggies.  
The eye was really something the french gourmet wouldn't eat every day. Quickly after this, he downed some of the veggies with spicy sauce and some of the irish beer. The two redheads laughed over this reaction. But Alasdair had to admit that he was also very proud of his wife this evening.


	15. Chapter 14

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Francis woke up next morning and snuggled onto his lover who had been lying patiently next to him.  
"Moarn..."  
"Moarn? It's noon already, wee prince."  
"Really? Damn...That ass of captain demanded too much from me. All the time I had to do the shitty work.", and some more curses followed, but then were cut short by a kiss.  
"I'm sorry ah couldn't hulp ye oot o' this. Ah hud mah ain 'shitty work' tae dae."  
The frenchman sighed and buried his face into the scottish chest.

"We won't bade in Ireland fur lang time. 'n' gang oan tae mah steid. Hmm. Noo we shuid pure think o' whaur we wantae bide. In th' city, in a village, or within th' Hielands wi' na neighbours at a' – juist lik' in yer steid?", the redhead asked.  
"Well, the problem is always, that we cannot really live among people. They will see freaks in us for living so long. Another thing would be if we lived among your kings. Your royal people. You can serve them, always know when an attacker is about to approach. This is just the 'heart' of yourself, wherever that is. And I guess there's mostly also a village or city at this place also. It..was Perth, wasn't it?"  
"Aye."  
"And we could still do some traveling just for fun. I'd still want to see your highlands and those 'fairy pools' you kept talking about. And yes, we can also go into the forests, go to lochs for your fantasy creatures. ... especially that Nessie. She missed you, I'm sure."  
A smile filled the scottish face. Then it was settled. They could leave their stuff at the king's castle and then go to pay ol' Nessie a visit.

"Noo, we shuid git gaun. Ah bet, Seoirse awready thinks god kens whit aboot us."  
"That we mate like rabbits?", Francis laughed and hugged the older nation.  
"Aye. Aren't ye hungert?", Alasdair kisses Francis onto the cheek and stroked the soft blonde hair.  
"Just a little bit. But I don't want no sheep's eye again."  
"Don't worry. ..Ah'm pure sorry, ah shuid huv tellt ye afore. Bit this is a one-time thing."

After breakfast, they prepared the carriage in which the few things were the nations owned. And put the horses in front with which they had rode quite a while. The last part of the 100 years war and during their tour through France. George rode beside them on the road towards the harbour that would get them towards Scotland. On the way, mostly Éire and Alba talked. Sometimes France would join in. It wasn't that Francis was the silent kind, but he liked to hear the two of them talk to each other. The almost intime atmosphere that was then created around the two redheads gave Francis the secure feeling of having a real family. It was true, that he had alot of half-siblings of which he was close to some, not so close to the others. With the time, more half-siblings appeared as there came more nations surrounding France, such as Luxembourg, Belgium, Andorra and Monaco. Still, there was never such a feeling when with the two Kirklands.  
Eventually, George and Alasdair came to the topic of Arthur, who represented England. He sure was the black sheep of the family. The one who at first was rather 'useless' as he hardly could defend himself. And now was really harsh towards his older brothers. All of them weren't sure on how to deal with England now.

"What about Pays de Galles?"  
"Who?"  
"Wales.. or .. Cymru, as you call him? Wasn't he attacked by Angleterre either?"  
"Aye, He wis. Even afore me ah think. Bit ah haven't heard o' him sin then. Huv ye, Éire?"  
"No. .. I'm afraid not. I just hope, Arthur doesn't kill her."  
"Her?", Alasdair and Francis asked.  
"Yes. ... Wait, you haven't seen or heard? Cymru is a girl! We always mistook her for a boy. Also, she wanted to be recognised as a boy. Even Arthur mistook her for a boy! But it's definetly a girl."  
"Hauld yer horses, howfur dae ye ken that?"  
"...I .. I have seen her one time. When we were kids.. and went to swim in the lake. She always wore pants, so no one would see. But then I slipped and undressed her accidentaly. She had never been more furious. But by now, I am sure it is visible that she is a girl. She won't be able to hide that fact, so I guess I won't be chopped into pieces, when I tell you."  
"Cymru is a lassie...", Alasdair murmured, still struck by the fact. Hadn't he seen all his siblings very naked some time? But he couldn't recall one of them being a girl.  
Francis was rather delighted. A girl was always something so very pretty. Perhaps one day he would come closer to her and get her involved into fashion.

"Cymru is a girl. Yet still a tough girl." George continued. He looked cheerful, in spite Wales was obviously a damsel in England's distress. "I would like to see Arthurs face, when he finds out."  
"Me too.", Francis said and the three of them laughed.  
Their route through Ireland went over several weeks. They just went straight northeast, to meet up with the scottish coast and to avoid the english one. Francis began to freeze as they came more north. The other two nations didn't mind as much, but the frenchman wore definetly more layers, and not out of a fashionable way, when they reached the city Larne which would be in the northern Ireland in later time, and was still part of the kingdom of Ireland in the time they were traveling.

"And behind this sea, there's scotland...", the blonde murmured. "Ugh, what is this sea called?"  
"It's the irish sea.", George said, and took a good gaze on it. The harbour of Larne was busy, but not as busy as the one in Cork. It bore a more private atmosphere, much like the relation between Alasdair and the secound oldest of the Kirkland Siblings.  
"Wull ye jyne us in comin' tae Scootlund?"  
"No. I'm afraid I can't. ... I have a responsibility, you know?"  
Alasdair hesitated and looked at his brother. As a child, George had never taken responsibility. It showed that the young man with the carrot coloured hair also went through some harder stuff in his life.  
"Aye, o' coorse. .. O' coorse ye dae.", Alba looked down.

"I am glad you have joined us on your little voyage.", Francis said, trying to sound casual and put up a loving smile. "And it was very nice to talk to my brother-in-law. It was also actually the first time I got to know you really. It was long overdue"  
"Y-yes. Ugh.. thank you too... ", the younger redhead blushed and nervously scratched his head. Right at the moment he envied his older brother for having married France. The nation was really beautiful, when he smiled.  
"I will still get you your ship towards Scotland. I know a nice captain who still owes me something."  
And with these words, George walked off into the busy harbour.

"Francis, Ye shuid be canny wi' yer charisma.", Alasdair said, laying an arm around his lover.  
"What? Why?"  
"Yer ... Yer charming a' body. It doesn't even maiter if it's min or wummin. Whin ye juist smiled at mah brother, ah cuid huv sworn he fell fur it."  
Francis put up a sheepish smile.

George returned. "Come on, guys. I found the captain. Follow me, quick."  
The three made it through the crowds of people and animals. The landing stage was actually not broad enough to carry the carriage. But they had to take it on board since it was all that they had left.  
"And how about we sell the damn thing?", France suggested. "We can buy a new one in Scotland then."  
"Sounds like a good idea. Unharness the horses."  
The horses where no problem. Soon, the ship, that was just a bit more than boat, loaded with the belongings of Alasdair and Francis. Ireland had been off to sell the carriage while the other two had loaded the ship. The whole procedure went down very quick.

"Will you accompany us til we reached the scottish shore, Irlande?"  
Alba shot an angry look at his wife. Hadn't he said, he should be careful with his charms? Francis merely ignored that fact. Belonging to someone didn't mean to be not nice to others.  
But George had surely noticed that look and made a sheepish grin.  
"No, I guess, I'll stay behind. I'm really sorry. I wish I could help you more, but this is my limit. ... I wish you a nice voyage over the sea. I hope you won't drown."  
"Aww, Oui. Take good care, then.", Francis hugged George, being followed by Alasdair.  
"Tak' guid care, wee bro. Ah wull miss ye. ...But ah jalouse we cuid visit ye mair often then? mah steid isn't that far awa'."  
"Yes. Or I come to visit you. Right now I don't have that much time, but I am sure that I can go ask my king."

After the ship had set sail and sailed off, the two nations stared for a long time onto the green island. Until it faded on the horizon. By then, there was also Scotland to see on the other side of the horizon. The distance wasn't that great.  
"What city will it be where we land?", Francis courtly asked, looking at the old land in the distance.  
"It wull be... An Truthail. An T-Sròn. The Truin."  
"Why are there so many names for the same place?"  
"Fur it's Scootlund. Ah huv an' a' alot o' names. Dae ye mind?"  
"Oui, I do. .. But I don't know why."  
"Mmh.. Fur.. we ur different.", Alasdair frowned. "Alot o' tribes. They, that ur Clans th'day. Aroond ilka neuk ye git a freish accent or dialect o' th' same leid. It's pure mad rocket. Did ye ken, that 'Alasdair' is actually a form o' 'Alexander'?"  
"Non, I didn't.", Francis stared at his husband. "But it is mean. .. I have.. few names. Not fair. And even the very few names I have are so similar to each other. ...Francis.. France.. Frankreich... Hell, there isn't even a difference between the english and the french version of my name, but the pronounciation."  
"Mmh.. If it helps…In Scots it's 'Fraunce', 'n' in Scots gaelic it's 'Yn Rank'."  
"Yn Rank? That is really something different."  
"Hm.", Alasdair smiled and kissed his lover. "A loue ye, mah bonny yin."

From Troon they went more inside the land. Going over Kilmarnock, Glasgow and Stirling, they soon ended up in Perth, which was still the king's residence.  
By the cities and towns they had passed, there was still signs from the attack of the english. And still things weren't settled. Bot sides still had enraged people, mostly young people, and it didn't seem that their emotions could be soothed.  
Alba and France on the other hand had seen more than enough wars.  
In Perth, King James II. wasn't there. He was in his 20s and tried hard to get the Orkney Islands and the Shetland Islands under his / Scotlands control. Right now, they were under Norways control, who was actually an Alliance Partner of Scotland.

"Appearantly that doesn't mean that he would give them back to you, right?", Francis murmured. He was not used to the echo that the castle's walls emitted.  
"Aye..."  
The Queen appeared and said that they could be housed in a larger house close to the castle, since as nations they 'deserved' such a thing. A privilege. They agreed. In the frenchman's opinion it was just what they had been looking for and Alasdair merely accepted this opinion. He didn't mind, as long as he was with France. Home was for him where his heart was. And that was with the blonde.


	16. Chapter 15

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The house they were told to live, was in a nice, lively street. But the house itself was in a bad shape. Alot of repairment had to be done. Stables were there also, and a little garden in the inner yard. Though of the bad shape that even Alba saw and minded, Francis was very happy to be there.  
"We will rebuild it all by ourselves. Make ourselves a home. I mean.. surely, it will cost a good amount and it will need time, but we have more than enough time, don't we? It will be in our heart! And the garden. I can cook nice meals with those vegetables that will grow here! I see alot of potential in that."  
"Ah'm glad ye lik' it.", Alasdair frowned. He wanted to open the door ... and then held the door in his hands.

"Écosse! You are so clumsy, you should know your strenght...", the blonde giggled. He didn't mean to badmouth his husband and helped him with the door.  
They entered the house and found a few mice that had settled in the dirty straw to make a nest. The tiles of the kitchen had also seen better days.  
"Mmh.. We should make a check list. First... the floor. The dirty straw is rather annoying to walk on.", Francis grabbed a broom that was standing in the corner and started to roughly sweep it all out.  
"Next we should .. perhaps...Care for the wooden things like cupboards, the door, chairs and stuff we would want to sit on. Then we should also take a look for a job actually, non? We need an income."  
"Th' queen gave me some dosh. She knew, th' hoose wis rotten.", Alasdair said, fumbling in his pockets.  
"Oh? That's good. .. Now I wonder in what shape the roof is. I wouldn't want it to rain inside."  
"Aye. We wull need hulp."

They left their stuff behind and closed the door to make sure not to invite robbers as they went to get some carpenters. The carpenters checked the house from roof to cellar (if there was one, that is). The roof had some minor holes which were fixed with no problems. The house was made from stone, thick stone walls and a roof with wooden framework and neat slate shingles. Then there was the several rooms that had to be cleaned and set for a purpose later on. The windows were renewed. They had coloured glass for windows. The basement was the same. As for the furniture and the kitchen itself, the carpenters couldn't do anything. They had a chimney sweep to clean the fireplace in the living room. And they even offered to take the broken and old furniture (cupboards, kitchen, couches, carpets) with them in an exchange for new ones. Then they also fixed the stables, making a nice little place for the horses to stay at. Of course it was all not for nothing, so the payment was moderate. High actually for their taste, but the carpenters had done alot and they still had enough money left to live with.  
The first night, the couple was left with only a carpet and a working fireplace.  
The bounty they had taken with them was actually also only their clothes, their armor, some of Francis' pots and pans (which he had also used during the war), and items to actually maintain what they had.

Alasdair lit the fireplace and soon the living room warmed up.  
"Shall we sleep here?", Francis softly asked and sat beside his lover onto the carpet.  
The man nodded and laid an arm around the frenchman. "We shuid initiate this steid."  
"What do you mean by that?", the blonde innocently asked. But soon it was obvious that it was just an excuse to make love. Then again, neither of them minded, when the other wanted some more love. It was just a silent agreement between the two.

On the next day, the carpenters came back with the fixed furniture. Soon it was all installed and ready to be used.  
"This is nice. This one is way better than what we had in the normandy. The house too. You just notice how we ascended in the rank. In Normandy we used to be like.. farmers. Low class. And now we're real citizens. Isn't that cool?", Francis chattered while he inspected his new working place. The house itself with the inner yard and the coloured glass windows was just a little treasure! With a few flowers and plants here and there. And other decorative elements it would be really nifty.  
"Aye, it is.", Alasdair prefered the country side. The busy city life made him kind of uneasy. France knew this and he would provide at least one place in their house that would remain a place of peace and tranquility. And they had a garden after all. If the tall man missed the nature, he could always dig around in the garden.  
"How about we now seize the day and walk around in the city a bit. We might find a few things, Non?"  
"Mmh, Ah don't ken howfur it's wi' th' weekly merkat in cities. Bit yea. Let's gang."

Strutting a bit through the street, it was really crowded here and there. Being it on the edge of the middle ages it also looked quite dirty and reeked here and there. Hopefully this would change during the time. They were lucky to find that there was a daily market with products coming from everywhere around and in Perth.  
Not only buying grocerys, they also ordered a proper bedding at the stand of a carpenter that only worked with wood. And then they also bought some smaller things they needed. The nations felt drawn back a little to the time when they had just been married and moved into their new home.  
"Noo.. Ah think, we huv it a'. Or moreover, ah cannae carry mair hings...", the scotsman demanded. He wasn't the only one carrying what they had purchased, but he carried the major part.  
"Mmh.. Oui.. Let's..", Francis was distracted by a little painting kit he saw. Just a brush, coal, some papercloths and three pigments. The merchant even handed out instructions for how to mix colours and what pigments to use to achieve this or that colour. "Wait a secound..."

Half an hour later they were back home. Both were really zeallous to get everything in place. As they had finished, the bedding arrived: the wooden frame, the matress and some sheets.  
After the bed was in the right place, in some room in the first floor, Alasdair was really hungry, but found his wife inspecting the painting kit.  
"Mmh.. hey Francis.. noo, whit's this?", he smiled and stared at the unexpected stuff. Wasn't it enough that the frenchman knew how to sew clothes and how to cook very well?  
"Oh.. uh.. I .. I think I want to learn how to paint. I like these colours, they're so.. vibrant. Yellow, red and blue. The instruction says that they are organic. And I'll have to put in egg and flour to actually use them. So I guess I might be using the coal first.", Francis seemed really interested into the subject. He had already picked up the coal and began to draw onto the papercloths. Soon his hand was black.

"Francis...? Ah'm hungert... ", the redhead tried for the secound time and looked really sad.  
"J-just a secound.", Only with restrain, Francis laid away his new art supplies. He hadn't tried the paint yet. But he was also responsible for to get his husband fed. He had forgotten that the redhead could not cook at all.  
The blonde walked into the inner yard where there was a well to wash his hands and to get some water for to cook a nice little meal. It was noodles and a sauce made from herbs and cream that day. Self-made noodles of course.

But after Dinner, the frenchman went straight back to his new project. He even continued after the sun had set.  
"Francis! Ye're addicted tae this jobby!", Alasdair said, trying to get his lovers attention. He found cute, when the smaller nation had a new hobby, but this was strange. The frenchman hardly moved and just kept his beautiful blue eyes fixed onto the papercloths.  
"So what if I am? This 'jobby'(shit) opens my eyes. And I think it's helping me... to really work out.. the sadness.. in my heart.", the blonde clumsily managed to say, which made the redhead freak out even more.  
"Sadness? how come did ye ne'er tell me?"  
"It was about Jeanne. I don't find the need to talk about her. It does not bring her back. But I know... I know that it is only my own fault that she had to die."  
"Whit urr ye talking about! did ye set th' stake oan fire? did ye!"  
"hé bien, non... but if I had fought Angleterre from the start, she wouldn't have to enter the war at all."  
"France... Listen tae me. Keek at me.…It's /not/ yer fault. Ye didn't ask fur Englain tae attack ye. 'n' ah ken that ye wur feart. Ah wouldn't huv bin able tae rammy mah ain bairn brother either."  
"But you did! You did fight him! Before I entered the war you went off to your place. Don't you remember?"  
"... Ah dae…Mind. Bit ah wouldn't wantae dae that again."  
"But wether it was my fault or not. .. I saw her dying... and could not help. It was horrible. And talking won't help. I still have nightmares. ...Drawing calms me down. I can sort things out."

"Then ah cuid uise this an' a'. Ah an' a' keep getting nightmares.", Alasdair began, who still sat with Francis and watched into the flame of the candle.  
"Mmh? From what?", Francis stopped the motion of his brush. He had managed in the meantime to mix his own colour.  
"Dae ye mind William Wallace? he fought th' Sassenach. Gey brave mon. Gey brave. . Bit then, he git captured. 'n' tortured violently afore he wis 'allowed' tae finally die. ...It wis sae awfy.", a tear escaped the green eye.  
"Why did you never tell me?"  
"...Ah don't ken. . Tae be honest. Ah don't ken. B-but he wis pure tough 'til th' end. Even whin thay unmanned him, he said tae be proud tae be Scots.", a dry chuckle escaped the redheads lips. "Ah huv a go tae drown this feelin`s in anger…In harder training or alcoholics. 'n' ye? ye kin mak' something bonny frae sorrow. This is pure…Admireable."  
"Don't admire me. ... I am just starting this. This looks like crap. But I don't really care. It just.. there is this flow from my head, my heart to this piece of cloth. And I also open up my eyes to this world differently. As an artist you see the world differently, perhaps.  
For now, I keep looking at objects and things more sharply. Like what size or shape they have. I hope, one day I can draw humans as well. ...Do you want to try it too?", Francis felt that he was not able to sweep away the older nation's sorrow, but perhaps he could distract him. It could only improve.  
"Nnh.. Na. Ah can't dae that."  
"Come on, try. It does not have to be something. Just pick the brush and guide it over the cloth.", the blonde put the brush into the right hand of Alasdair in an attempt that he was a right-handed guy. He had hardly seen him write things or do something else. He would not know. Then he held the hand that was holding the brush and helped him with the movement.  
The outcome was quite smooth.

For a long time they just sat together and shared one brush. It was just like back then when they would sit and form pots and plates out of clay. In the end they were all dirty and had to go bath in the forest's lake. For now all they had was the well in the inner yard. It would have to be enough.  
"Dae ye think we shuid sell ceramic again? this time ye shuid paint thaim. It increases thair value.", Alasdair suggested.  
"A very good idea.", Francis snuggled close to his lover. "But not now. .. Soon, the sun will rise. And I don't think that we should pull all-nighters every day... We can't buy so many candles."  
The candle they had used this night was almost burned down.  
The frenchman got up and cleaned everything. The cloths they had used were left to wash in a bucket. Alasdair also took part in tidying up. And he unlit the candle. They could still use it after all.

On the next day they also spend some time at their new home.  
But after that they made their way towards the majestic highlands. The way towards Loch Ness close by Inverness was still long to go. But Alasdair was sure that they could make it within one day.  
"These.. mountains are really... pretty!", Francis stared in awe at the large rocky buildings that nature had created. And at times like these he really found that his sight had changed. Other details came to his mind. He looked at things like if he had to draw them. For example, he would pay close attention to how things folded when back then he didn't even care. Now, he noticed that rocks and mountains were pretty much the same as if someone put a giant cloth and had folded it hundred times. And the third dimension was created with shadow and light. It made things appear more deeply into the room that they filled out.  
The thing he liked most about art was the colour. He took up the teachings of how colour was created. With the basic colours blue, yellow and red, he could at least create four new colours: green, orange, purple and black. Actually also brown, but he didn't like this colour much. It wasn't as flamboyant.  
As Francis experimented more with the pigments as they went more north towards Nessie, he also found out that the shade of a colour depended alot of the parts he would mix in. Like with 70 percent blue and 30 percent yellow, he'd have a darker green. The green would take up the darkness from the blue. He began to also see how 'god' would have mixed the colours right before them, and suggested that the sun was the yellow, and the water was the blue that made the mix, the colour of the plants.  
Wasn't there, where only the sun resides, only yellow – the sand?  
All of it was just a theory, but whenever the frenchman made some experiments to prove it, it was true.

As for Alasdair, he became more and more worried about his husband. The blonde rarely talked. And if he talked, he said strange things about how god had painted the world. On the other hand, he admired the results even more. For one thing it looked funny, when Francis' face was covered in paint. Then again, the young man gained more and more skill. Still the redhead hoped it was only a phase that would pass by.

Loch Ness was a tranquil sea. Not very broad, but long was the sea. And darkish, almost black water was in there. Not really inviting for to go swim, besides that it was way too cold.  
Francis found Scotland still beautiful: the person as much as the country, the land that they were walking upon.  
Meanwhile, Alba walked with sure steps to the shore of the Loch and called out for his old friend. Standing in a secure area, Francis watched as the water stirred and some strange animal made it's way to the redhead. That must be Nessie. She had a round main body, 4 fins, a very long neck and a small head. She made strange noises and snuggled with her head onto Alasdair who cooed loving words towards her.  
"Wull come 'n' greet mah auld mukker, Francis?"


	17. Chapter 16

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

"Ah think she likes ye.", Alasdair said as Francis carefully petted the plesiosaurus in front of them.  
The frenchman had been scared, but calmed down since nothing happened. There was nothing to be afraid of really.  
"What does she eat anyway?"  
"Raw fish. She won't sloch flesh. Whiles she wid an' a' sloch vegetables that graw 'ere."

They stayed for a while. As they returned to their house, a familiar person slept on the step before their door.  
"This is incroyable! What does /he/ want here?", Francis hissed.  
"Shh… Shut yer gob.", Alasdair checked the body lying on the doorstep for weapons, but there were none. By then, he was also awake.  
"Are you done sleeping…Angleterre?", the blonde frenchman asked and tilted his head.  
"Mmh.. Yes… Wait, you came back!", at once he was fully awake. "I am sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry…so sorry…"  
Francis looked quizzically at Scotland.. who returned that look. How came that England was now being like a sorry little puppy in the middle of night at their doorstep? How had he found their house? Not even their name was yet on the door.

"Howfur aboot we let him in? this is pure haunless.", Scotland murmured to his wife.  
"Let him into our house? I know he is without weapons, but he still has his hands. And we do have weapons inside.", France replied. "Let's first find out what he wants… ..What do you want, Angleterre?"  
The blonde boy sniffled and wiped his tears away. "I-I came.. because… as you said, I kept thinking. Thinking a lot in the past years since the war had ended. And I just feel sorry for all that happened. I don't even understand myself.. I was a monster back then! Just a tool of my kings! Now I came here in hope you could forgive me. I came extra without any weapons to show how serious I am. Now I don't know… if you can forgive me, that is."

Alasdair casted a glance at Francis, as if to say: Look, he means it.  
"I have more to say.", Arthur continued after a while. "I was jealous, when the two of you got married. I was a little child, when it happened. And I also knew that this marriage, this alliance was all against me. It is not fair. Not fair at all. But you never attacked me until I attacked you."  
"That's right.", Francis coldly said, looking for signs that the knee was still damaged. But appearantly it had been fixed by the time.  
"Now I also want to ask... if you hate me, that is. I mean, without the war. Did you form the alliance because of your kings or because of me or because ... you love each other?", Arthur blushed a little and looked away.  
"Uhm...", Alasdair didn't find that Arthur was to know about this.  
"It was a bit of everything.", France bluntly said. "First, we were just friends. Then our kings told us to get married. Then, you attacked us, like you said.. and of course we had to 'shoot back'. But before that... Scotland and me fell in love with each other. It was because we were friends from the start, so we liked each other, Oui? And then we learned to live together. We got this house in the normandy and saw each other daily. Had no one else to talk to. And now we share alot of memories. We grew together. Separating us would only hurt."

"Do you understand that?", France asked, after a somewhat awkward pause.  
"Yes. ...But. .. Despite this Alliance: Couldn't we live together in peace? As humans? I have made my own experiences by now. I know that there is still alot of battles going on between Scotland and England. But that does not mean that Alasdair and Arthur have to fight, right? We could.. we could mock each other. Like brothers. Because brothers we are."  
"Aye.", Alba said that almost a bit too quick. He had been hoping for such an event all of his life.  
"This is all just a tiny bit too easy. I am not your brother, Angleterre. Do not be angry if I don't trust in you so quickly."

"Noo this is getting silly.", the redhead interfered and helped his youngest brother to his feet and also got him out of the way, so Francis could unlock the door. "Open up."  
The three of them went inside. It was chilly since the stone walls couldn't really store the heat in themselves much with all the cold air around. England sneezed.  
"For how long have you been on our doorstep anyway?"  
"I ...", another sneeze. "I don't know. Excuse me..."  
"Bless you, Angleterre...", as soon as he said that, he regretted it. But no one laughed or said anything.  
"...Thanks."  
"You're a' cauld. 'n' ye tae, Francis."  
"We don't have a tub."  
"Aye, bit we huv lairge blankets. 'n' a muckle kip."  
"I doubt that the bed will carry all our weight.", the frenchman said.  
"It wull! Haven't ye seen whit wood he used? it looks mair dear than 'twas."  
"You bought a new bed?"  
"We just moved here."

Actually, the couple did not mind having England around. He behaved nicely and polite and that was all that was required for a peaceful life with three nations under one roof. Or one blanket as it was now. The next morning, the three found themselves lying together in the bed. It was Scotland in the middle, and France and England on either side. By the morning time, both younger nations had their heads on Scotlands chest.  
Francis slowly opened his blue eyes and stared at the still-sleeping England. The hair looked like wheat in autumn. So soft... He remembered touching it often in their childhood. Continuing his look towards the face... England surely was no child anymore.

"Moarn, wee prince. Inspecting me wee brother?", Alasdair chuckled lowly.  
"hé bien.. a bit oui. He has changed.", Francis retreated from Albas chest, not wanting him to have more troubles breathing.  
"Ah hawp sae...", the redhead reached over to ruffle the hair of his brother. He didn't care if he woke him.  
"w-wha... where am I?", he said with a weak voice.  
Francis reached over to feel if the nation had a high temperature. Yes, he was overheated.  
"Damnit...You have a fever, Angleterre."  
"What are you doing here, France?"  
"I am living here. This is Perth, not your place. And you need rest. Écosse, how much money have we left? Is it enough for a tub?"  
"Aye, Shuid be. Urr ye planning tae actually 'heal th' enemy'?"  
"Enemy? You said, he was your brother and needed care last night.", France pouted and left the bed.

A little later, Arthur was having the bed of the married couple for himself, along with a wet cool washcloth on his forehead which Francis renewed every now and then.  
The couple itself was in the kitchen and having breakfast. They still had no kitchen table, so they sat on the countertop.  
"We pure cannae spend sae muckle dosh anymair.", Alasdair said, drinking some water. It was not the time for Whisky.  
"... For now, I even agree. When there is no income, there is always such an insecureness. And now we have even a third mouth to fill."  
"Aye."  
"He could have brought some money along.", the frenchman snorted. Then he looked at the window to admire the coloured glass. He loved it.  
"Haven't ye checked his claes fur ony dosh?"  
"Non. Only for weaponry."  
"Then we huv tae chaynge that.", the redhead smirked mischievously and walked towards the sleeping room.

After a while he came back with a very happy grin across his face.  
"What did you find?"  
"Loads thousand poonds. This is th' fee fur his bide at oor steid. A' body haes tae gie something, Aye?"  
"... That's kind of strange for someone like him to carry around so much money.", Francis tilted his head and took a glance at the thick bag of coins. Back then, there was hardly any paper money in europe, let alone northwest europe. So everyone would carry around coins. "And idiotic."

When Dinner was ready, the frenchman looked after Arthur himself. He found that Alasdair was rather soft, when Arthur did something bad... and way too hard, when the boy did something right. No wonder, why the blonde with the green eyes was so fucked up inside.  
With the soft look on the englishboys face, he looked really... cute. Francis could have hit himself for that thought. Especially.. what was he doing here anyway? Taking care of his brother-in-law, or 'accidentally' falling in love? Besides, falling in love was too much to say. He was rather feeling... like a mother caring for the only child. . .. ugh.. right, that was it. .. Wasn't Arthur a 'love-child' anyway? He'd got the blonde from France, and the green eyes and bushy eyebrows from Scotland. .. Yes, very much love-child.  
"W-what are you staring at, you frog?", demanding green eyes looked at him.  
"N-nothing, mon chéri. Nothing. .. How are you feeling?"  
"I'm thirsty...", a blush found it's way to the english cheeks.  
"mmh..water's here. Do you think, you can eat a bit? I have cooked Dinner."  
An awkward silence fell upon both. It was still a bit too early for a 'happy family together'-Dinner. Yet again, the boy /needed/ to eat. He needed strenght to fight down the fever.

Right, and as soon as the fever had gone, he could get rid of him and have Scotty for himself, the frenchman thought.  
"I made stew! You will have an easy way to eat it. So, do you think you can eat with us, or shall I feed you? Or get Alasdair to do it?"  
"N-no, I'll come, I'll come!"

A few days later, England would still not go back to his own place. He said that he was enjoying his time with the two, helped them where he could. And surprisingly he was also good on pottery. He just had the spirit to do it. He tried hard to learn new things. Motivation was never an issue. And yes, even to some point, it was like they were a family of three.

It was all happy, until Francis, Alasdair and Arthur were out in the nature one day, just to go fishing.  
"And this is how you can catch a fish with your bear hands.", the frenchman started. Both were with their bare feet in a river. Francis lowered his upper half body over a calm swimming fish between his leg. He simply took him out of the water.  
"Woaa.. you make it look so simple!"  
"I know, right?"

Suddenly, Finland showed up, being beaten up and really frustrated. But also with a stubborn look at his face.  
"Hey, you are nations too, aren't you? Englanti, Ranska and Skotlanti?", the finnish young man asked  
"Aye. ... Ye're Finland.", Alba responded. The other two younger nations just looked curious. "Ah huv seen ye among th' ither vikings."  
"Kyllä (yes), and the others were so mean to me. They said that we should keep it a secret, that there's this little boy over there. He is .. small and blond and all on his own. I asked Ruotsi (Sweden), if we could adopt him, but he refused! ... Now I want to ask.. I don't know if you are good with ships. With sailing... Anyway. I ask you to go there.. and take care of the boy."

"Sounds like a nation.", France dropped the fish. "Where is that child?"  
"He is, where Portugal and Spain have found this new land, according to what this guy.. Christoph Columbus had said."  
"Mmh.. Over the atlantic ocean? I thought, the world would end there...", Francis muttered, remembering the time where he had sat on the giant dune with Alasdair.  
"Kyllä... It has been said. But we vikings have found out long ago, that there is yet more land. More nations. But we decided to keep it low. Not showing up there that much. The people in this land were kind of ... strange. Different from us. ...I'm so sorry to bother you."  
"You are no bother. .. We will just go and look out for this child! Or at least I will!", England said enthusiastically. He stepped out of the water and hurried for getting dressed properly again.

"Spain could have told me, that he found land.", the frenchman muttered annoyed, following the british nation just as quick.  
"What? You want to come with me?", Arthur said confused.  
"Of course. Four eyes see more than two, right?"  
"Mak' that six een.", Alasdair added.  
"First thing we need is ships that can sail the atlantic. Finlande, how long is it until over there?"  
" You are on the way around half a year. .. You must calculate that.", Finland walked with them back to Perth.  
But back in the city, Arthur claimed the few things he called his own and left the other three. He wanted to be the first one to actually find the child.

"I know, that my people are no good sailors.", France began. "Don't know the reason though."  
"It's a'richt. Ah wanted tae ask ye tae sail oan mah ship anyway.", Alasdair said and kissed Francis' cheek.  
"How about you make a mixture?", Finland suggested. "You have the mainship from a scottish shipyard, and two french trade vessels. In the trade vessels you can also load things from the new world. It is ... very rich on things. On fruit and animals."  
"Oooh...", the frenchman said. "Now, doesn't that sound inviting? I mean.. it sure will be dangerous, but I mean... I want to take empty books with me in which I can draw all the things. Perhaps not colourful illustrations, but with charcoal. I could draw every flower and plant that I see there. And learn alot. Dieu, this is just the opportunity!"

While England planned everything on his own, the scottish-french team pulled all ideas together to actually do it. The finnishman had left a while after he had told them, what was going on. Everything else was left to the three.  
France was a bit grumpy, that his brother Spain had not told him about his travelings towards the west. He could not even be mad at him. Pierre came back with the letter – which meant that Spain wasn't in his land.  
After a month of preparation, both teams were ready for the long voyage over the atlantic ocean. Following a new horizon...


	18. Chapter 17

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The journey across the endless atlantic ocean was dreadful. After a few weeks, the people were getting a strange disease – scurvy. It meant that they would not get enough vitamines. Back then, no one knew that it was due to the lack of vitamines. No one could tell, why it happened. And of course it would also hit Scotland and France – though not as bad, because they were nations, and a great portion of their people were still save and sound on the land that they had left. A lot of sailors died due to this disease.  
"If this continues, we'll be the only people on this ship.. and I don't like that thought.", Francis said. Despair was written on his face.  
"Aye. .. It's nae gaun weel. Ah hawp we reach th' new world soon."

When they finally had reached the new world, there was no real harbour to stay. And there was this english ship. The ones that had to stay behind on that ship and were not allowed to go onto the land got really cranky. The french sailors started to exclaim loudly that they could not stand it all anymore, while the scottish sailors looked as grim as stones – which in the end could be even more dangerous. Even when in sickness, the scottish were still strong and could toss large tree trunks around.  
"Du calme, du calme!(Calm down!)", Francis shouted. He then spoke in french to his 'babys', tried to calm them down and told them that they'd all be selected and send to the new land. But they could not use those that were weak and actually need it. The land was hostile and wild after all. There was sure sweet exotic fruits, but the garden surely bore it's stings.  
Alasdair said the same thing in his languages – Scots and Gaelic.  
The scottish sailors understood and tried to bear the life on the sea for some longer time. The french however were still cranky and had a hard time also accepting that they were not as strong as the scottish colleagues.

However, they formed a group that would set foot onto the new land. In little boats they managed to reach the sandy beach. Francis had stood behind on the ship, as a symbol of good will, while Alasdair had to show his bravery and had to check if they could land savely.  
As they were parted again, they felt both at loss. Francis missed Alasdairs strenght and calmity while Alasdair missed Francis' cuteness and thoughtfulness.

"Noo tae fin' a bawherr wee jimmy in this. …mmh, bit... Fairn?", Alasdair took a look around. There was these palm trees. Francis had shown him some in south France, hadn't he? And hadn't he said that those trees had fruit that were edible? Coconuts?  
And then there was more fruits. Where they edible? A plan formed in the scottish brain and he ordered everyone to just grasp as many fruits and coconuts as they could carry and bring to the boats. These boats were then brought back to the ship where the french captain (Francis) could inspect them.

"Mmmh? Qu'est-ce que c'est? (What is this?)", Francis looked towards the beach with his telescope, finding the redhead waving and doing some kind of charade on the beach. The blonde chuckled at this show. "honhonhon, you are so cute, Écosse…"  
Then the boats arrived at the ship. Francis indeed checked the plants and put those aside that were unknown. Those that were okay he gave the others right for eating, except for a few single exemplars, indicating that they could use more of them.  
"Also, if some of you are experiencing stomache aches, please report to me. The effect can set in later, but not usually!", France explained to all sailors that had remained on the ship. For the french he translated into their language, but the scottish had to bear with his english. Evem after all this time, he hardly know any scots or gaelic, even if he could understand his husband perfectly.  
Now, obviously, the hardest part of this journey was over. The emotions on the ship switched and the people became more optimistic.

Alasdair in the meantime looked out for signs everywhere. From France came the signal that most of the food was alright. A breath of relief escaped the scottish lips.  
Then he scanned the thick tropical forest for signs of life, while most of the men were busy collecting food again.  
Surprisingly also, here at the beach, the sun didn't burn him as much as in South France. He didn't even take much notice from the sun either.  
Suddenly, an arrow hit into the sandy ground, just a footstep beside him which he noticed even more. "Whi...?"

In no time, the sailors that had been on the beach were surrounded by the natives of the young continent. They had dark, leather like skin, a fierce look much like the scottish, and wore leather and feathers – if something at all.  
One of the wild people said something harsh as they came closer, making the newcomers form a circle. This one guy, he had a blue feather and a red one, seemed to be their leader though he did not look much different from them. But he had the authority.

Francis had flinched at this sudden change of things and felt an ice cold grip on his heart.  
The sailors on the ship asked him, what to do.  
"I.. I don't know. ..merde, they're killing them!"

But nothing like this happened. The natives inspected the newcomers, found the blond and red hair strange, but pretty. Even more so Alasdairs red hair, as it was a rich ruby red, much like red wine. The natives had never seen such a thing and tugged at the hair.  
France on the ship in the meantime had an idea. He undressed and made a loincloth himself with the help of some sheets. Then he just took a quill and put it in his hair. Actually, all of these had no real colouration, unlike those pieces the natives wore, but these had to look similar at least.  
Then the frenchman walked on deck, got met by the unbelieving gazes of the common sailors, and he jumped into the water.  
The blonde swam the little distance from the ship unto the beach. The quill didn't look as happy anymore, but was still recognisable as feather.

The natives looked bewildered at the blonde appearance. In their eyes, Francis looked like a god. First they had even thought it was a woman in spite that some of the natives (male hunters) had also longer hair, some also tied into a ponytail.  
"France, whit urr ye daein' 'ere?", Scotland shouted and came over to cover Francis' body with his own coat. He didn't want to share the half-nakedness with all people that were present at this time.  
"I'm just trying to save my husband.", he replied with a stubborn look. The natives encircled the two now.

"We come in peace and mean you no harm.", the frenchman said to the natives and bowed a little in hope they would at least recognise the symbolic meaning.  
The natives' leader grunted and gripped the quill Francis had put in his ponytail. He took a closer look at the quill and then laughed, threw it away. He then took a feather from his own accessoiry and put it into France's hair and smiled. The blonde returned the smile just as gently.  
The natives leader cried out and the other natives made the newcomers move, made them come with them to their village.

Some of the native huntsmen walked faster, forward to tell everyone in the village to not be hostile and to welcome these new strange friends. Even a party was set up this day. After all, the native people of america had not made any bad experiences with the 'white man' yet. And as long as the white people from europe were peaceful towards the people living here, there was no problem. Yet, there was still some pessimistic people, saying that these 'foreigners' wouldn't do any good. But others tried to keep those pessimists down.  
The scottish and the french remaining on the ship were brought later, but right in time for the party.

"See? Everything went fine."  
"...Cuid ye please git dressed?", Alasdair asked. He found that the coat was just not enough to cover his wife.  
"Why? It is so warm. And it saved us. I wouldn't be surprised if they think I'm a god. Have you seen their looks?"  
"Aye, Ah huv. 'n' thay keeked lik' thay wur gaun tae huv ye fur nicht. ...I wonder whit kind o' lee thay leid. Multiple wifes, nae caring aboot ither man's belongings."  
"...Don't be mad. What I really hope for is that they could show us, where that kid is. That child that wanders on his own. If Angleterre already has found it? Did Finland say something else about the child? Do you remember anything?"  
"Th' wean wis blond. That mak's it even easier. It wull be th' ainlie blonde wean we wull ever be finding 'ere. …mmh, bit thae 'indians' sure ken howfur tae cook. This is magic."

"Hah, I know, right? I asked them if it's chicken... they said it's dog meat."  
"Dug Hough?", the scotsman paled. He liked dogs! How could someone eat dogs?  
"Oui. Much like the chinese on the other side of this .. earth.. thingy."  
"It's a globe. . Did ye ever cook or fried a dug?"  
"Non. Sometimes I'd like to, because they're scary, but I never did."  
"... How urr ye scared o' dugs? They're sae cute! 'n' helpful. Best mukker o' human bein'!"  
"Think, what you want, they're scary to me!", Francis nagged.  
"Weel that's yer opinion. If a'm waantin' a dug, ah wull huv yin. 'n' that's final.", Scotland said and walked off, obviously disguisted.  
"Fine!"

The next day, the scottish were gone. A note was left, saying that they were looking for the child.  
Francis in the meantime tried to ask the natives, to help find a little child with 'yellow' hair, much like himself.  
The natives agreed and sent out little groups, along with the french who also split into groups, to find the child.

A little after noon, Francis had also dressed normally again, they found some of the english troops with Arthur among them.  
"Hey Angleterre. Have you found it?"  
"No. .. And you better get lost. I still want to find it first."  
"It's not about that, you silly brit. ... It is a nation, but also a little child. Wouldn't you be scared if you were so tiny and all on your own? The thing hardly can be over 50 years old. It's about time we find it."  
"Why did you bring all those savages?"  
"Savages? They're the natives. They know this land. Who wouldn't be helpful if it wasn't them?"  
"Mmh.. That's so typical of you. You trust everyone too much. Sooner or later it will break you."  
"It already did. But that does not change anything.", Francis sighed.

Suddenly, the little blonde child ran past. It was a little boy with actually short blonde hair and an 'ahoge' pointing straight upwards on the hairline. Besides that he had sparkling bright blue eyes. He did not look sad or lost.  
"That's him!", the two nations cried in unison and walked up to the child – who in turn appeared startled.  
"And he looks totaly like me. He'll be my little brother!", England cheered.  
"How does he look like you? He has no fat eyebrows and his eyes are as blue as mine. It would be news to me if one of the Kirklands looked like this.", the frenchman said.  
"How can you say that? You're married to my older brother. Don't you like him? I bet you using him all the time!"  
"That's not true! And I am not using him!"  
"Oh really? And who pulled you out of the dirt in the time of the hundred years war? Without my brother, you would have been annexed by me all along!"  
"DO NOT SPEAK ABOUT ZAT!", Francis punched the younger nation down. The anger let his accent stand out more heavily than normal. "Never speak about ze 'undred years war again..."

Things became even more restrained, as other clans of natives came up. Some were having fights among themselves. Others did not want the newcomers to actually settle. And then, France was called back to europe, as the members of the Habsburg claimed both Italy's for their own and wanted to enlarge their own realm by attacking France.


	19. Chapter 18

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Back in europe, things became more difficult for France than ever. He was encountered on the southeast, around Northern Italy. And Spain on the south west. Now, what to take care of first?  
It appeared he could not stay all the time back there in Perth where he would have wanted. Neither had he heard if Alasdair had returned after their little fight about wether they'd have a dog or not. What a silly subject to fight over.

The king of France now wanted to claim the northern Italy. Things were still a little complicated as the northern Italy was parted into smaller republics, such as venice, florence and others. As a whole, it was belonging to Austria. The king of Austria, a habsburg, had relatives among the kingdom of spain, making Austria and Spain a married couple, much like France and Scotland. But since France and Spain were brothers, Spain had promised to leave France alone, when in turn he'd receive regions of France that were close to Spain. Still a kind of awkward situation. The french king, Charles VIII. however only saw the beautiful northern Italy which he wanted to claim as his own. Wouldn't it be nice to be in one house with the little Italy again, he asked his nation.  
"I don't know…", Francis had to admit. He hadn't seen Chibitalia in a long time.

In full armor, later on the battlefield, he had secound thoughts of the use in this battle. Austria hadn't really joined the 'italian wars' yet, but England had. And even if it was only for to weaken the french troops. The first crusade ended in the battle of Fornovo. The venetians fought against France. On the venetian side, there was also people from milan and mantua while on the french side, there was swiss mercenaries. Often back in that time, Switzerland fought along with France, but you could say that the nation didn't like it that much.  
"We were outnumbered, but I think they lost more people.", Vash said, at the end of the battle, taking a glance at the battlefield.  
"I hope so. Especially with you. You're good with the crossbow.", Francis forced a smile.  
"Stop being such a nuisiance.", Switzerland grunted.  
Actually, they had been at loss, but people would say later, that it was a strategical win.

After this, the french King Charles VIII. returned to France, but unfortunately dropped the bounty on the way. Furthermore, he had nothing to continue the war. The king died at the age of 27 on an accident…

In France, in the cathedral Notre-Dame-de-Reims, a new french king was crowned. King Louis XII., who would still lead war against Italy, claiming the whole place. It was the secound round for France to enter in the crusades. Switzerland, Venice and some of the Papal States (Avignon, actually all places where popes had influence) helped France in this matter. Venice only, because France had won which place. It was not that the italian nations, Feliciano and Lovino, actually fought for their own ownership – to be either indipendent or to belong to someone special.  
Francis himself took a little break from all this putting down and warfare. He was continuosly thinking of how he missed Scotland. Was the older nation mad at him? He had all reason to be so…  
He then decided to visit a man who he heard a lot of amazing things in matters of Art: Leonardo da Vinci. At this time, he was in Florence, doing minor works.  
It would not hurt to visit the man, Francis thought. The frenchman had been interested into art, but no one had ever taught him. If da Vinci couldn't, no one could. He had heard that the man was a genius in such things.

So there he was, and knocked on the door.  
"Buongiorno, come posso aiutarla?", a quite good looking young man with shoulder length blond hair and blue eyes had opened the door.  
"Bonjour. .. I want to see the maître Leonardo da Vinci. Is he at home?", Francis timidly asked, being overwhelmed by how the man resembled himself.  
"You're talking to him. So, how can I help you?"  
Francis couldn't hide his astonishment and took some time until he regained his composure. "Ugh… Je suis désolé. I am just a young artist looking for a teacher. I have been trying a while on my own and.. I want to see your artworks."  
"Ah, that's no problem. Just come in. .. It's just a bit untidy, but you know.. I have a lot of work."  
"I don't mind…", Francis gasped at the things lying around.

Paper in all sizes, little constructions made of wood and other materials. It really was a working place for an artist, but also someone who knew how to invent machinery that would ease the daily troubles. "This place is wonderful."  
"Haha, I know, right? But I think I will have to move soon. With all the war around here, it is not really save. In case, some french troops enter in here. … ugh.. sorry, you know what I mean."  
"Oui. But this is not because they're french, but because they make you feel very uncomfortable.", Francis gave the other one an excusive smile. Leonardo did look a bit like him, but then again he was older by the looks. Possibly in the beginning of his 30s, when Francis was still stuck with the age 18 since the middle ages.  
"I'm glad you understand.. uhm.. what is your name anyway?"  
"My name is Francis Bonnefoy. But you could call me Francis. I am just a kid after all.", the frenchman shrugged.  
"Okay, Francis. Do you have any examples of your artwork here? What are you doing concretely?"  
"I had started now with drawing items. And just recently went over to draw animals, as they are easier to watch than human beings. I mean.. when you stare straight at someone because you want to practise drawing, they get awkward at you, don't they? They either want you to stop staring or want to look what you are actually doing.. this is so.. embarassing.", Francis had brought some papercloths of what he had drawn. Also some plants from the new continent.

"You'll have to go through that.", Leonardo simply said. "But you are doing quite well for what you have done until now. .. Just a little more practise maybe. Are you going to dedicate your life to it?"  
"…Mmhm.", the nation nodded. "A bit of it. It's not going to get me any money, but it is very relieving to draw. To paint. To express one self. And eventually, the results will be just as epic. I mean to show my feelings through the paintings, not only to depict what is already there."  
"Hum… that's kind of cute."  
"What are you aiming at with all of your work? I mean, there is way more than paintings and the such?"  
"Yes, you see that very clear. I want to invent things to make life easier. Gadgets, you know? …The thing I dream of to invent most is.. a machine that enables people to fly."  
A longer period of silence filled the room. The french nation wondered if Leonardo could really do it.

"…Have your other inventions worked until now?"  
"Yes, they actually have. There is just this fool that keeps on messing around. He tests them for me, there is no problem. And they work. But afterwards, they're always messed up. ..Actually I am not even to tell you his name."  
"Why?"  
"He is-…"  
The door opened and a man in a white hood appeared. He grunted words of apologies and closed the door again.  
"…I guess that was him.", Francis grinned and winked. "I can keep secrets, don't worry."

Da Vinci took the rest of the day to teach Francis some tricks for his artworks and the nation made real progress. There wouldn't be any time left for them, so Francis was also very sad as they had to part again in the evening.  
"I hope we can see each other again.", Francis said.  
"Yes, I hope so too. Where do you live anyway?"  
"Right now.. I live among the french troops. I'm a soldier right now. And I don't know where to go after the wars are over. I might go to France perhaps. Or back to Scotland.", France sighed and thought for a bit. Then an idea came to his mind. "Oh, I know! I'll have another Pierre bird set for you. You just have to find a pigeon box for him to land on. Like a post box. You can deliver messages or maybe even artwork with him. He is small, but a very good bird! This way, we can keep contact with no problem."  
"A pierre bird?", Leonardo asked.  
Francis called out for the bird and introduced them to each other.

"I hope you die as a very old man."  
"Haha, you too.", Leonardo answered.  
"I guess not."  
"Why?"  
"Because I can't die.", France replied and disappeared into the darkness. "Au revoir!"

The french troops moved further south, to Naples. Almost before they had reached their destination, the troops parted and took a rest, before they would have to enter any battles.  
Francis was standing alone somewhere.  
Suddenly, a little child ran past the french nation. France had to halt and watch the child. Wasn't that the little Naples? He was still a baby nation! And damn looked he cute! Babbling in a very angry way, much like the little England had done. So cute!  
Then, something bumped into Francis from behind. It was Spain.

"H-hola, France! Long time no … what are you doing here anyway?"  
"Hmm. .. ", Francis was still caught up on the vision of a tiny Romano in a white dress with dark green cape. "Oh? Salut Toni. You have changed alot since I saw you last. .. is this really the southern Italy?"  
"Si, he is. Are you planning something? I let you have Feliciano already."  
"…You also still have Roussillion and Cerdagne. Are they well?"  
"Si, they feel much better with Boss Spain!"  
"Oh, Toni. Stop being so full of yourself."  
"I'm not full of myself. But your stupid king is."  
"Was. .. he died just recently.", the blue eyes turned cold against the olive green ones.  
"I'm sorry to hear that. ..But I still won't give Romano. He is my hermanito. My little brother."  
"He also is my little brother, you silly Espagnol. You and me are brothers. Are you forgetting that?"  
"Hahaha, No I couldn't. But with your long blond hair I always keep thinking you are a girl.", Antonio laughed some more. Francis could still not be mad at the younger brother. Spain was all about the mediterranean sun!

"I think you just missed a very important part of being a nation. What is it?"  
"A quiz? Eh… very important part. .. uh…", Spain tried hard to focus on what France was aiming.  
"Attention! I speak of attention. Look, Romano is gone again.", the lad was nowhere to be seen.  
"Maldito! I must look for him! It's all your fault. You distracted me.", Spain spat.  
"Oui, oui.. As if. When you keep on paying no attention, you will loose this war!"

The war of the holy league began. Others spoke of it as the 'war of cambrai'. More parties entered the war about Italy. Mostly it was France, Spain, England and several italian states, such as Florence, Venice, Ferrara and Milan. A major aspect of all wars was though that the mini states of the northern Italy ceased to exist and started to join together as there was no other way to get rid of all the enemies.  
In the beginning, Milan was still part of France. The first battle against the holy league was France vs. Venice itself. The french troops were overpowering. Things had changed since the dark middle ages war style of the 100 years war. The armor was less as it was better to move more agile, but therefore more shooting weapons, guns. The gunpowder mostly came still from china via the silk road. It was also people in europe that were able to kind of copy the effect that gunpowder had. As the venetian troops were outnumbered, the french had won this battle. The next battle soon followed after.  
Along with France, the holy roman Empire and the papal states fought against Venice again in the battle of padua. This time, Venice had more people, but were still outnumbered. However, the venetians still managed to win for some reason.

The next battle in which the french took part in, took place in brescia in the early spring of 1512. The city of brescia had revolted against the french control and received help from the venetian troops. The battle took place in the pouring rain, making it very difficult for both troops to even get some traction. The french however, overran the venetian and the brescian citizens. The city of Bergamo paid a lot of money to avoid sharing the same fate.

Just two months later, the next battle near Ravenna awaited the french. Allied with the duchy of Ferrara, they had to face Spain and the Papal states. Also, the english started to join this war of the holy league. Henry VIII. had threatened to invade France and this would mean that the french troops had to leave Italy.  
The spanish troops were very strong in this battle. And even the commander of the french troops died in the battle of Ravenna. The next commander insisted on taking Ravenna, even as the spanish troops retreated which resulted into the french being able to keep the city for now.

In the summer of the same year, the english started their invasion to France. Hardly 50 years had passed since the english had left France. Francis himself was annoyed. So many battlefields. The battle of St.-Matthieu however took place on ships on the Iroise sea, just before the bretonian coast (in between the atlantic ocean and the english channel). It was France and Brittany vs England, and Francis and Arthur both seemed to have their fun in trying to kill the other one. With 3 ships more and being more experienced on the sea, England won this battle.

Back in northern Italy, the battles also continued. The king demanded to claim Novara as the next city – and the place around of course, especially after Louis XII. Had been driven out of Milan. In this battle, Venice allied with France, and both fought against the swiss confederation and the duchy of Milan.  
"Hey Vash, have you switched sides? You traitor!", France snarled.  
"Don't take this personally. I just do it for the money. It's not my fault, not everyone can lie on his back and enjoy life. I have to work for what I want!", Vash was determined to do anything to become richer and richer by that time.  
The french army was almost wiped out, making it an obvious swiss victory.

The remaining french troops had to retread back to their homeland. A lot of these soldiers had been away from their homes for a long time anyway.  
But soon, in the summer 1516, the english troops and those of the holy roman empire invaded France on the northeast, near Guinegate. The french troops were outnumbered: They had only 7000 soldiers, while the english and the 'german' had around 30.000 men fighting on their side. The english won this battle by far.

Another battle awaited the french nation – this time against Switzerland and the Holy Roman Empire. The Holy Roman Empire obviously felt threatened by France and had allied with everyone who would fight against France. The battle of Dijon was also very uneven. While the french had only 4000 – 5000 men ready to fight, the enemies had like 40.000 soldiers. The whole battle was just a massacre.


	20. Chapter 19

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

From the time when Scotland had parted from France in the native American's village, he had not been inactive.  
He had led his sailors wander around, eventually they had tended to go further north, as no one of the scottish could really bear the hot temperatures.  
They had met all kinds of strange animals, fruits. But as they came more north, the environment.. was just right. What no one of them knew, was that the Apalache mountains of the place they ended up, were much likely familiar with the Highland mountains of Scotland they had known as they had grown up to.  
Some of the men just decided to settle down there.

Alasdair walked around aimlessly, one evening. It was rather chilly where he was. He liked to be alone for a moment and hung in his own toughts. Had he been to harsh to Francis? But he wanted a dog. Or any other pet. Because Francis and him could never have any babies or anything like that. Raising a human baby would be… to cruel. They would watch it grow up, grow past their 'parents' optical ages and soon die. They would grow too attached, it would not be right.  
And then a dog … a dog would be nice. They could bring things, learn tricks and be just so very nice to have!  
And a cat? Well… a cat possibly also had it's positive sides. Oh, but France was always so picky!  
Alba could have come up with a bunch of random animals and Francis would still have disagreed. Why couldn't he see the point?

The redhead kept looking for said blond child. He didn't know how far he was from finding it. He just had no sense for orientation.  
"Damnit, if ah hadn't left ye, ah wouldn't be lost noo!", Alasdair shouted unto the trees. The trees seemed to mock him, with their eerie red light. A light just as red as his own hair. Back at home he felt secure in the forest. He had been part of it. But here... here, the forest seemed to not want him. He was the stranger here.

His men had said that they liked it here. And that they wanted some women here too, to serve them with food and clothes.  
Actually, he shared their interests. They needed to make a hut here. A village or some sort. Especially they needed some kind of Ace up their sleeves. Back at home, Scotland was always threatened by the presence of England. No one knew when Arthur would explode with his childish anger.

"I'm so hungry.", a tiny voice said.  
Alasdair blinked. He looked around and couldn't see anyone. Was it a spirit?  
He didn't know this place here had spirits too. Now this was a big positive thing, the scotsman thought happily.  
"Juist hauld yer horses a while, ah wull be back wi' some fairn."  
"Take me with you.", the voice demanded. "please...it will be cold soon."  
"B-but. Whaur urr ye? ah cannae see ye."  
The man felt a light tug on the leg of his pants. No wonder why he hadn't seen where the voice had come from. The voice belonged to a little redhead child with dark eyes. The environment was also still red from the setting sun, so he could not say, what colour they had.  
But it was also obviously a girl. She wore a long white dress, much like any baby nations.  
This was even more astonishing that the fact that the new world might have spirits too.

"W-wha urr ye?", Alasdair asked as he picked up the little girl.  
"I am… Nova Scotia."  
Almost he had dropped the poor child. Nova Scotia!? Wasn't that 'New Scotland' in latin? But then again, she /did/ have the red hair! Did that mean she was his child? His little girl? His /daughter/?  
A dream might have come just true!  
"Ah… Ah'm Scootlund.", he happily introduced himself, still kind of drunk from the fact he just had gotten a daughter, had become a father.  
"I know. Hihi, you're my faither. Where have you left Maman?"  
"Maman?", the poor 'father' looked at his daughter in surprise.  
"Aye. Maman. The one with the blonde hair and blue eyes.", she said it all as if it was the most normal thing in her life. But how did she know all of this?  
"Y-ye mean Francis…Ah jalouse. Bit he is a … he. A guy. Ah ca' him guidwife, bit he is definetly an' a' a faither … if at a'.", Alba mumbled the last part. He wondered if they could still have this child together. If Francis still loved him. And appearantly, the new world was full of children that only waited to get a parental person from europe.

With Nova Scotia on his arm, the old nation made his way back to the camp, the scottish had put up. Soon, it became dark and the first stars came outside. At the camp, the scotsman had his own tent as he was some sort of commander.  
"Aye. It is alright. .. But where did you leave him? I would have liked to meet him."  
"Ah left him behind. Mair sooth 'ere. Ah jalouse we fought.", Alasdair didn't like to talk about it. Nor did he like to fight at all with Francis. And it hurt when they were separate, for whatever reason.  
"Then why don't you go back to look for him?"  
"Ah don't ken."  
"You will never know, when you don't go. Sometimes things are not as hard as you might think of.", gently she petted the hair of her father. A motion that reminded the older nation of France. Oh, how he missed him.

"Uh.. howfur aboot we git ye something tae sloch? ye said ye wur hungert."  
"Yea."  
Alasdair went through the camp to try and get something to eat. They couldn't have taken their sheep with them, so no Haggis. An acceptable replacement was the turkey that was there hundredfold. The Scottish really couldn't complain. Despite the rather cool climate and the hostile territory, it was a rich nature that offered all kinds of food for the foreigners. Roots that could be cooked, several fruit, berries, animals for when they wanted meat…Alasdair brought the little girl a bit of everything – and a bit for himself as he noticed that he was hungry as well.  
"Thare, ah hawp ye lik' it. Bon Appetit."  
"Thank you. Can I call you daddy? Because 'Faither' sounds so formal.. and I want to feel closer to you. If you don't mind.. that is.."  
"Ah don't mynd, wee lassie.", Alba nudged the child and then sat down with her to eat.

On the next day, he decided that the scottish should remain where they were and start to make a Fortress or something. They needed a larger place with a high fence and houses inside. Then Alasdair himself would go to look for France quickly and then go back to europe to find women that were willed to start a nation in the new world. It would be a tough job to start a colony, but it was an absolute necessity.

As Scotland had returned to the place where he and France had parted, he found that his alliance partner had left – with only a part of the crew. And those that were left behind were somewhat merging into their environment. They dressed and started to talk like the natives. Alba had a rough time to talk to them, but it was obviously, that both the english and the french had returned to europe as that there was something more important going on.  
"Ah wull need tae gang back tae Europe an' a' anyway. Hm…Nova Scotia, wull ye hulp me ower thare? ah wull need some bonny girls tae come ower tae yer steid tae stairt a colony. It wull mak' ye Graw 'n' ye wull aye huv someone 'ere efter tae plooter."  
"The children of the colonists?"  
"Aye, mibbie. Wull ye assist me?"  
"Of course I will, my beloved faither!", she really loved her new father and with all this charm she truly captured the heart of the old scottish nation.

Back in Perth, he started to manage the new nation. On one hand he had to educate the Nova Scotia, who he soon had named 'Mhairi McKirkland'. He insisted that the 'Mc' would remain there as a sign that it was not his little brothers colony. He even got a houseteacher to teach Mhairi how to write and read and also a bit of maths. Besides that she got teached in the more important languages in the western world: Latin, english, french ..and scottish (scots and gaelic). The last part he taught her himself.  
And as for the place where he had left behind a large amount of his sailors, he recruted a lot of women and even more men. Alba paid also good attention of the jobs that they had. Carpenters, teachers and priests and craftsmen were of great importance, he found.

At the scottish court, people had also started being interested into the little nova scotia. They had started to help Alasdair organise the whole project. And since England, France and Spain were busy fighting over Italy, he had all the time he needed.  
It was not that he paid no attention at all to their quarrels. The redhead kept himself up-to-date with the wars. In the beginning it also looked that France would actually win these wars. Yet soon after the pope had set the 'holy league' upon France, the nation had big trouble. Huge losses on the french side which made the redhead worry.

Alasdair spoke to his king, James IV., who agreed to at least make a diversion. The english should not interfer and trouble the important alliance partner any longer. Moreover, he wanted to stop Henry VIII., as the english king had threatened to also take over Scotland as well.  
The scottish king attacked in september 1513 near Branxton in the north eastern portion of england. It was the battle of the Flodden field.  
The weather on that day wasn't the best. It was raining and the place, a grassy field, was practically under water. A swamp.  
"Ah don't see that we win this yin …", Alasdair grunted as he moved forward with his troops, on the side of his king.  
"Don't be so pessimistic. Even if we don't win. The aim is to give France a break.", James remembered.

The gunpowder they had with them was wet and the english had somehow managed to come from behind. The canoneers were badly educated, thus the scottish missed their prey. The english however had the usual bow and arrow as weaponry. It was old fashioned at that time, but it worked nonetheless. And the english archers were the best in the west and middle european zone. Being surprised by the sudden attack and the precision the english showed, the scottish stormed downhill to reach the base of the english troops. But the english had improved their weaponry since the last battles and were also trained better.  
The scottish lost many men in this battle. Their king and a lot of high ranked aristocrats were killed. The diversion was not even perfect as the battle had hardly done anything to the english.

After the battle, the son of James IV. was crowned as the new scottish king and went by the name James V.. But the battle of Floddenfield had ended the short involvement into the war by Scotland. It was most definetly not because Scotland didn't want to help France, but the losses were just too much. Alasdair had survived the battle, but didn't think that he would survive another one.  
He wrote a letter to Francis.

"I am sorry, that I could not help you, wee prince. It is just too much for me to bear. I still hope that we can meet one day in peace and live a normal life again, like before all these wars. – forever loving you, Scotland.", Francis read out as he was alone in his tent. It was the first letter he had ever received from the redhead, so things must have been really serious.

After the next battle between Venice and Spain in Octobre, the french king Louis XII. died at the age of 52. It was quite an age for someone who had been constantly in battle, so there was nothing unusual about the death.  
Louis' son-in-law, Francis I. then was coronated in Reims as the new and first king of the Renaissancian time.  
Francis I. didn't change the course and continued the battles in Italy in spite two kings had failed before. France himself got the feeling that the longer the war lasted, the more uncertain it was for them to win.

The swiss had taken control over Milan after their victory in the battle of Novara (not to mix up with Navarre), which was problematic for the french, because either it was the gateway for the french to Italy, and then the french kings had always claimed Milan because of some legacy rules, that they had relatives who had owned Milan. A reason that could be often used as an 'excuse' to take upon a new piece of land. The houses of europe were bond by blood all over. There was french ancestors in the english royal house, same with the scottish and some others. Then, the Holy Roman Empire, northern Italy and France had shared the same kings for a long time as they had formed the 'Empire of the Franks'. You could say, everything belonged to everyone. But kings and queens remained on their spot that they as an individual person wanted to own everything.

The french king now tried a smarter way to come into Italy. He marched through the valleys, avoiding to run into the arms of the swiss army. At Villafrance he could surprise the papal troops and capture a lot of people and bounty. Switzerland and the Papal States were stunned by this attack and retreated towards Milan. They then tried to seek terms with France, but Spain remained stubborn in Naples and didn't think of giving in. After all it was a long road until the french troops would reach this place.  
The Swiss and the pope however reached an agreement in giving Milan back to France.

But there was one swiss commander, who pointed out that they could make good bounty. Wasn't it at the battle of Novara that the swiss had won with so many men less than the french had?  
This inspired the swiss troops to try one more battle with the french in the 'battle of Marignano'.  
But the commander was wrong. The french, allied with the venetian states made a crucial victory.

For now, there was peace. No battles and no plans for such. Francis wanted to use the time under any circumstances to go 'home', to Perth.  
He stood before the door and knocked. He had to wait a little, but then a small girl with long red hair and blue eyes opened up to him.  
"Maman!", she cried out and threw herself at Francis, hugging him.  
"Quoi? .. What is? I am not your Maman. .. ugh, I guess I got the wrong house…", the blonde was disappointed. He had been so sure that it had been the right house. The one he had made livable along with Alasdair.  
"Moarn, Francis.", a familiar voice said.  
"Alasdair!? B-but..? Who is this girl!?"

Francis was let inside the house and they went over to the living room which looked more comfortable more than at the time they had been moving there.  
The older redhead explained briefly how he had met the girl he had named Mhairi.  
"… 'n' she hud said, you're her 'mother'. Ah thought we cuid be a braw fowk th'gither.", Scotland scratched the back of his head – what he always did when he was embarrassed. "A'm sorry fur whit ah said aboot th' dug thing. . We don't need na dug, whin yer scared o' thaim. Ah juist thought that it cuid be a substitute fur a wean, sin ah didn't think we wid ever huv yin. …But ye see, noo we dae!"  
"I see. .. Oui, we do.", Francis felt stupid. But he hadn't thrown a tantrum back then either. He just said that he hadn't like to have dogs. He hadn't said that he would not like to have pets of any kind. The french nation shrugged and picked up the little girl to have a better look.  
"Maman, why are you hurt so much?", Mhairi said and touched the bandages Francis was covered in.  
"That's because I have been into war. I hope the same thing does not happen to you as a nation."

"Ah hawp yer a'richt, that ah cried her Mhairi?"  
"Oui, it is fine. But I will pick the human name for our next baby, d'accord?"  
"Oor next…?!", Alasdair blushed.  
"Our next baby.", Francis smiled and cuddled the little girl who in turn giggled softly. They liked each other right from the start. The blonde remembered that they actually still had to decide who was getting the little blonde boy. "I missed you!"  
"Ah missed ye tae, wee prince."

"…I still have to get it in my head, that we have a daughter. All I know right now is that Arthur will be uber jealous!"  
"Haha, Ah ken, richt?"  
"Arthur?", Mhairi asked.  
"Uncle Arthur. He is ma wee brother.", Alasdair explained. "Ah thought ah huv tellt ye a bawherr aboot him. He is Englain."  
"Oh.. him. .. He is the difficult one.", little Mhairi scrunched her face. "Was he the one who hurt you so badly?"  
"Ugh… not the only one. My own brother did most of it. But like I said, I will cure soon with this time of rest. I hope I can spend as much time as I want with you."

The child then struggled from France's grip, got up and ran to her room upstairs. As she came back she handed Francis a sheet of paper.  
"Look, Maman. I wrote this to you. I wanted to send you a letter with Pierre, but now that you just came back, you can read it right here."

The letter was moving. Some letters were written wrongly. The grammar was also very much the one of a child. But there was so much emotion and beauty in there it almost made him cry. Mhairi had wondered where her mother was. And in spite Scotia didn't know Francis, she had outright missed him. It was not because she felt bad for being with her father Scotland, but because she wished so much for having a full set of parents.  
"…this feels like Christmas.", Francis said as he ended reading the letter and he had this sad smile on his face. "You two are all I ever wished for. Our family is so.. so perfect. … Mmh, but say, Écosse, isn't there something I can do for helping the new colony? Can't I send new people for to live there? I am sure it will help. Have some formidable Cuisiniers (chefs) et Tailleurs (tailors) in Nova Scotia."  
"Mmh.. Aye. Ah cuid sure uise thaim. 'n' some wummin, if ye kin git some."  
"This is cool, I will ask my king. Or my queen."  
"Then I will grow to be as big as you, daddy.", Mhairi chirped and got to sit on Alba's lap.


	21. Chapter 20

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

But things hardly go as they were planned. Five years later, the happy family life stopped again. France was involved in more warfare down in Italy. Yet, he had insisted on Scotland staying behind and taking care of little Mhairi, like he had done before.  
"Don't worry about me. You trained me to be very strong and I will soon own Italy. And if not, I will at least survive. I wouldn't want our daughter to grow up with only one fa… now don't give me that look."  
"I can't.", Scotland looked down. Mhairi was still asleep at that time and they stood in the hallway.  
Francis gave the older man a long kiss before they parted.

Francis I., king of France ordered his troops to attack next close to Pamplona. In this battle, that took place in early summer of 1521, the Navarrese in northern Spain were backed by France, and had to fight against the Spanish. Most Navarrese towns rose immediately against the Spanish in honour of the battles back in 1512.  
One man was injured seriously during the battles. The French admired the man for his bravery and carried him back to his home in Loyola. The man soon changed his life and became a priest, thus founding the 'society of jesus', the 'jesuits' (who will become more important later on).  
The Navarrese could gain control of Pamplona as a result of this battle.

The battle of Noain-Esquiroz was fought near Pamplona just a month later. A Castilian Army on behalf of the Spanish defeated the French and the Navarrese forces, driving them out of the Iberian Navarre.

In the Siege of Mézières an imperial Spanish army attacked the city Mézières but the determined French resistance gave the French king enough time to raise his forces against the Hapsburg king Charles V.

More and more battles took place around Northern Spain and Italy, and South France. The battle of Pavia at the end of these series of battles showed once more how mighty the Spanish-Imperial army was and how France alone hardly could stand a chance. All the time in these Italian wars, France had various Alliance partners though they had been for only one battle. But even Scotland couldn't help him, in spite he had always been so very strong. It all didn't change the fact that France needed more strength. More powerful alliance partners. It was that Spain had partners with Austria and the Holy Roman Empire. Serious enemies.

The French king agreed on this thought and sent France towards Poland. It was not easy at all to get there. On the land route there was the Holy Roman Empire, Switzerland and Italy in the way. On the sea route it was England, Denmark and Prussia. But eventually, Francis managed to go undercover and arrive at Poland.  
He had never seen the nation before and he was surprised to see someone who, at first sight, looked a lot like himself.  
A girly appearance, shoulder length blonde hair, but sharp green eyes. Also, his hair was more straight while Francis' was more wavy. The Frenchman suggested that it was his own, roman/italian legacy that made his hair wavy.

"Bonjour.. I actually hate to ask this, but .. could you help me out with an alliance?", Francis asked.  
The polish boy seemed rather uninterested. "What do I get out of this? What is the point of me joining you in an alliance?"  
"Booty.", The French nation and messenger answered. "You will get a little richer when you help me during this time. And it is worth it. Spain and Italy, and maybe even the Holy Roman Empire and Austria have a lot of treasure to grab. Help me and you get a good portion. I have seen on the map that your country is not that big. Wouldn't it be tempting to expand?"  
"To be honest, I have no interest into the expansion … but in wealth. I sure have a thing for beautiful things. Jewellery, fashion,… I know your kingdom is known for the latest fashion. The 'couture' or how you call it."  
"That's right."  
"It's a deal. Let's set up an Alliance."  
"But there is one thing, I do not want."  
"Huh?"  
"I am… married. I have an Alliance with Scotland. And we have shared a few years together. Over 400 years now. So… if you and me have an Alliance, please remain on the level of friendship. That we help each other with goods and military. That's all I want.", the Frenchman tried to explain. For nothing in the world would he be playing with the relationship he had towards Scotland. Many would call France a whore already, but the Frenchman would never betray the redhead.

The deal with Poland was set up, despite this little incident. Poland was also having someone else in his heart already, so he didn't mind. For now it was enough for both to know that there was a friend to watch over.  
Poland had moreover said that he could not join the battles for Italy, but could supply the French troops with food and other things that they could need.

The war of the league of cognac was fought between the Hapsburg dominions of Charles V. - Spain and the Holy Roman Empire – and the League of Cognac, a crazy Alliance including France, Pope Clement VII., the republic of Venice, the Duchy of Milan and the republic of Florence.  
England was actually also supposed to be in that League of Cognac, but since Henry VIII. couldn't sign the treaty in England, he refused to join.

Two years later, in 1528, Hungary joined France as an Alliance partner as well, but also rather serving him with supplies instead of joining into war also for several reasons. The Frenchman didn't mind. Battles were nothing to be happy about. It always cost a lot of lives. So many good men had died for no reason. Brothers, sons and fathers were kept away from their home.

The Hapsburg king knew how to control his own troops very well. In the next few battles, and in the final battle, the Spanish-Imperial troops made decisive victories. Hope was almost lost for the French to accomplish their desire to get Italy.

Then in 1530, Hungary called out for help. As an alliance partner, Francis immediately took some troops and hurried there, where Hungary was involved into the fight against Hapsburg. Then there was also other alliance partners of Hungary: the ottoman empire, Moldavia and Wallachia.  
"I'm glad you could come, Franciaország", Hungary said, before she bowed a little.  
Francis looked at her very long hair first. Wasn't Hungary a male? At least according to his memory, Hungary had always been male…  
"Bonjour, Hongrie. I hope I can be of any assistance in your 'petit guerre'."  
"Would you like something to eat? I have cooked some _Gulyás _soup.", she cheeringly said and walked off into the kitchen. While Francis had noticed the different gender, Elizaveta had as well noticed that France was no girl, but a grown man by now. She was no in the least disappointed. This only meant for her more strength in the upcoming battle.

"Didn't you say, that you need my alliance for this battle?", France asked as he followed her into the kitchen.  
"I did. ..But you need to eat something good in order to win. And I need to show that my alliance partners sure mean something to me. Do you understand?", she said with a big smile.  
"…Oui."

Francis stayed for a long while in Hungary, but then he felt more and more homesick. Besides it was still nagging him, how it was unclear what would become of the new world. Scotland was doing well with Nova Scotia, but there was so much more to claim!  
The blonde left Hungary an entire army to command, but then left once again for the new continent.

On the way, his king told him, that they were already trying to settle for a place close to Nova Scotia as the advertisement for new settlers was going around and Nova Scotia was flourishing. They had found some more native tribes around 'Kanata', but somehow got along.

The Canadian winter was merciless and way more cold than Scotland had described this area. Or I am more cold-sensitive than I thought, Francis said to himself as he stepped through the heavy snow. It was still snowing and the whole place looked magically. So sweet. Francis liked the view in spite of the coolness. In fact it was relieving after the heat he had experienced all the time in Northern Italy and Northern Spain.  
"Maman! Wait for me!", Mhairi cried out and fell into the snow. But she wouldn't cry. She got up and hurried further into the snow, just to catch up with Francis.  
"Be careful, ma petite.", Francis laughed and picked the child up to carry her. A little further, another redhead appeared. Alasdair and Mhairi had obviously come to Kanata as well.

"Ah cam as soon as ah heard ye wur 'ere.", the adult redhead said and kissed his wife.  
"I had hoped so.", the Frenchman returned the kiss.  
"Maman, why did you have to leave again?", Scotia asked and made a sad face. She was still a baby nation. Alasdair had dressed her in winter clothes, so she didn't wear her children's clothes anymore.  
"I am sorry. I had to go for the war again and I didn't want to wake you. You look so adorable when you sleep."  
Scotia blushed and looked down.  
"I'm really sorry.", Francis said again and kissed her deep red hair.

"Huv ye fun whit ye huv bin keekin fur?", Alasdair asked and played with some snow that was lying on top of some leaves.  
"Non. Not yet. But I am not giving up."  
"What are you looking for?", Mhairi asked curiously.  
"For a child. One like you. The children in this new world seem to be different. I mean.. you were 'found' by Alasdair. And the other child in the south was found by England and me. So there is.. a lot of unsure things on how such children come into life. Do bodies of colonies have to be formed first. Or is it us European nations that have to creative this new life? Back in Europe things were a lot like with the normal people. Men and women connect, thus bringing new life."  
"How do they connect?", the child asked.  
"Ugh…"  
"Ah wull tell ye efter, whin ye huv grown up, Mhairi.", Alasdair explained quickly.  
"Why? I am so big already. You said, I would grow if I'd allow your people to live here!"  
"A-aye. Aye, Ah said sae. Bit . Ugh… I'll tell ye whin yer at least /this/ height!", Alasdair took a knife and marked the height onto the bark. It was just a little smaller than Francis. Francis smirked.  
"But whhhyy? I want to know! Now!", she became even more cranky and hopped down from Francis' arms, just to attack her poor father who meant to protect her. "Why are you so mean, daddy?"

"Your father only means to protect you from bad things. You are just too young to know everything about this. I am sorry, that we can't tell you about this….But I promise you, I'll give you 'the talk' one day. I know, you are a few years old now. In human age, you'd be more than ready by now. But since you are a nation, you are still a child. Why don't you still enjoy your childhood? You are not involved in any wars. You can learn many other things. And you should always know that your father and me love you.", Francis explained with a calm voice as he dragged the girl a bit away so she wouldn't kick Alasdair anymore.  
Mhairi cried out of rage. She didn't want to hear such things. Soon she struggled free from Francis grip and ran into the forest.

Such an annoyance, France thought as he looked from where she had left. Alasdair wanted to follow her already, but the blonde held him back.  
"Don't follow her. She will come to reason by herself. She needs to learn that we don't spoil her. She should not get to much of everything. It needs to be balanced. She will come back when she has calmed her hot head. I promise you, if she does not return by nightfall, I will help looking for her."  
"... Ah see.", Alasdair nodded after a while, but agreed on that. They wanted to raise Scotia together after all. It was actually more or less their second try as they had tried to raise England – which had turned out to be a fallacy. England had turned against both of them, making their life hell.

"Now, we have more children to look after. I know, we could go more south.. but I am sure that there is going to be a 'nouvelle France' as well, as a Nova Scotia. I have seen that there is a separate society of French building up next to yours."  
"Aye. Ah huv asked thaim how come thay wid nae jyne us. Bit thay refused. Ah don't ken how come. Ah think thay didn't ken me."  
Francis laughed. "Oui, you are hard to understand for someone who doesn't know you. But don't worry. There is no Frenchman on earth who could dislike the Scottish. You just have the sympathy for being my alliance partner. All French people feel so. The feeling reflects in me. And I love you."  
"Ah'm glad…", the redhead murmured and leaned onto Francis.  
Slowly they approached through the heavy snow.

But then suddenly, Francis stepped into a trap and both were caught in a net of some strange materials. By the looks one could say, natives have made it.  
"Damn this trap…", Francis searched in his pockets for a knife. They were hanging in the net some metres over the ground, but rather being free than being someone's prey, was the motto.  
"Francis, cuid ye please stoap wiggling!? I'm trying tae git mah dagger … ugh.. DAMNIT!", the Scotsman just dropped his knife as the other man shifted his weight. Francis' knife had fallen out as they had been dragged up by the mechanism of the trap. Now they had nothing but their teeth and nails as weapons.  
"This is juist stoatin …", the redhead snarled, looking down at the two pieces of metal.

"I am sure this is some net set out by the natives.", France said.  
"Mmhm. Me tae.", Alasdair tilted his head and then leaned back to get more comfortable. Actually this was much like hammock.  
"Ugh, careful.. you almost squished my hand."  
"Sorry."  
"Mmpf."  
Another awkward silence passed by. Animals moved all around them. The sounds of the nature grew louder.  
"It can be hours until someone comes by to cut us off.", Francis figured as he watched his breath escape in clouds from his mouth due to the cold outside.  
"Aye."  
"…It has been a long time without you, Écosse."  
"Didnnae stoap ye frae forming twa mair Alliances.", Alasdair replied with a hint of accusation.  
"As if I was the one to choose…", the blonde murmured.  
"Weel ye didn't wale wi' me.", dark green eyes looked straight into blues. "You're mine and I do not wish to share you with someone else. What would you say if I'd make some random alliance with someone else? Let's say… with Spain. Or with Greece."  
"Don't be silly!"  
"Oh, bit Mister France says, it's silly. Mibbie then ah wull nae mak' an alliance. Fur ah aye dae whit Mister France wishes."  
"Stop that!"  
"Noo, ah wo-", but Alasdair had to stop as he noticed that Francis cried. "ugh…Francis, ah.."  
"Just stop it.", came a faint whisper from the French lips. Francis curled into a ball. He just didn't want any of these false accusations. Had he really been unfaithful? Like, when he ate this stew Hungary had made? Or when he had promised Poland to share the bounty?

A few more hours passed by and soon the darkness set onto the area where they were. The trees were so high that they couldn't even see where they were. And they couldn't be seen from somewhere else either.  
The two nations hanging almost in the trees weren't cooling out too soon as they wore some pelts that kept really warm. But eventually things like hunger and thirst and the need of visiting some private place would come up…  
"Keek Francis… I'm pure sorry fur whit ah said. Noo stoap blocking me aff.", Alasdair looked at the frenchball beside him. "Ah mean it. Ye kin huv as mony alliances as yi'll waant."  
"I didn't do anything with them."  
"Whit?"  
"I said… I didn't do anything with them.", Francis looked back to Scotland. "I told them to remain on the base of 'friendship', because I am with you. And they agreed. All we ever did was talking. I didn't even hug them. They can prove that to you, if you ask them."  
"…Pure?"  
"I tell you. If I'd ever lie to you, I'd cut off my tongue.", the Frenchman said with a serious tone.  
"Och, Francis…", Alba snuggled up to him. He didn't feel like kissing, since his face felt frozen over. Sure, this felt like any Scottish winter, but still cold. And he had hardly been outside on such a weather for the same time. "Let's huv a go tae kip, Aye?"  
"Oui."

Both tried to sleep for a bit. Maybe some hours. But then Francis awoke to a nightmare. He didn't make any noises, but jumped.  
"Wh-… what's wrong, Fran..?", Alasdair sleepily said, trying to take Francis into his arms to comfort him.  
"Ah… I juste 'ad a nightmare is all.", Francis snuggled up to his husband.  
"Huv a go tae kip again.", Alba muttered and patted the blonde hair and nuzzled into the Frenchman's cheek, which the Frenchman found very comforting. He felt like a little baby being pampered in the strong arms of the redhead. It sure has been a while since he had been held like this.


	22. Chapter 21

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

On the next morning they woke to new snow falling from the clouds above. Now things were getting more complicated. As for the 'bathroom' thing, they could arrange so that they would look away and holding their ears shut to the other one. Then, thirst problem was mostly solved with the snow that was falling down. Basically it was only water.  
And then hunger…  
"I know, that I love you so much I could eat you, but I can't. I wouldn't.", the blonde said while observing the other one trying to get some snow.  
"Actually. It wid be crakin' if Scotia wid git someone tae hulp."  
"Oui, it would. Haha.. now, I said it will be alright when she would be returning by nightfall. Now we didn't even return for breakfast."  
"Don't speak o' breakfast. I'm sae . Sae pumpin' hungert."  
"Désolé", Francis said, putting up an excusing face.

Both thought for a while. How would they ever get out of this? What if it was an old trap that no one had used in years? The natives around here had always been fierce. Then, France came up with an idea.  
"What does an animal that is trapped?"  
"It.. it cries?"  
"Oui. And … now, we can't cry out all the time. Screaming and shouting takes a lot of energy. Besides, it hurts the vocal chords for sure. I think of singing us out. Someone will hear us and free us."  
"Sounds like a plan."  
Soon, France's voice was heard gently among the trees. Even animals stopped their song as they had never heard a sound like this before. Natives sang. But they would hardly do when in the woods. Only working women of the natives would sing. Or native warriors, when they would perform on how they hunted. Or the rhythmic chant of a medicine man. But the colonists didn't dare to sing. They were too scared of the strange wilderness that might attack them any moment.

But song after song faded into the woods and it was already noon, when someone appeared. It was a group of native Algonquin. They surrounded their prey, then found the daggers lying on the ground under a light layer of snow. They talked to each other in short rough commanding words.  
"Do you think they'll kill us?", Francis whispered.  
"Thay can't. They're nae nations. … or ur thay? ah don't ken if individual tribes kin huv an 'avatar' o' thair ain."

With a big 'thud' the two young men were let down back on the earth. It felt good to feel the ground beneath the feet after hanging for such a long time. The Algonquin didn't wait for a long time and told the foreigners to hurry, that they could all run back to the village of the Algonquin.  
The village of them was a big leather tent with a lot of smaller tents around. And as you might guess, the nations were brought the tent in the centre. Inside was very warm, so everyone could actually even walk naked if they had wanted to. A huge contrast between the cold outside. The foreigners were told to sit down on one pelt and wait.  
The redhead and the blonde had been friendly with most native tribes, but never had they been inside a natives tent. There was a fireplace in the middle of which the smoke escaped through the hole on top of the tent. There was furs and pelts lying around in all kinds of sizes. Then there was also items of all kinds of materials serving various purposes of which mostly for daily use. Curtains of leather were hanging here and there, to depart the huge tent into different smaller rooms. The natives didn't care as much about privacy as the Europeans as we know it, but since the tent served a variety of purposes it was just better that there was more rooms. Also, the cold or heat (in the summer) from the entrance wouldn't change the tent's climate dramatically.

There was a group of Algonquin sitting around the fireplace, they had stopped their chattering as soon as the two strange looking people had entered. Really, to them Francis and Alasdair looked really strange with their blond and red hair… and Alasdair with his very white skin. Francis had tanned in the Italian wars, but they stared at him bewildered still.  
One man hissed some commands at a young Algonquin who nodded and hurried out of the tent.  
The group around the fireplace was cooking some stew and the foreigners were so hungry, their bellies grumbled loudly. It was really hard for them to restrain themselves and remain calmly on the pelt.  
"Ah bet, thay won't huv anythin' against it, if we ask thaim fur some.", Alasdair whispered.  
"Then you won't have to have anything against them cutting off your hands.", Francis whispered back. He was just as hungry, but knew that the natives would not allow any impoliteness. And he wasn't sure if this would be impolite. He didn't dare to find out.

A man with a torch came closer to Francis and tugged on the blonde hair. The gave the torch to someone who was sitting near-by and then started to inspect France further, turning his head and starting to undress him halfway. The Frenchman but protested as the native grabbed his crotch.  
The native spoke to his leader and the group was collectively surprised. The leader made a sign and then one of the curtains was lifted. A blonde child with dark eyes – possibly purple or blue – and blonde hair stepped into the 'conference' room of the tent. The most stunning thing was that the child looked just like France! Scotland and France were now just as stunned as the Algonquin.  
The child itself wore a white gown with a nice, red tie. Another difference to France was a curly ahoge that was faintly visible.  
Francis immediately recognized the child as his. It had to be his, there was no doubt about it. Moreover it seemed like a part of himself had just returned to him. But returned? He was in the hands of the native tribe here. Besides the white gown he already wore some obvious native jewellery.  
"How do we get with him out of here?", Francis whispered to Scotland. Suddenly, the child had also become more important than an eventual offer of food.

The child was unaware of the fact how much they resembled each other. But the leader said to him that he should go to the 'man with the yellow hair that looks like a woman'. The boy obeyed and walked with unsure feet to Francis. "Ho…"  
"B-bonjour.", France looked at the little child. Everything on him was so very tiny! But so.. so perfect! His hands were just like the ones of an adult, but with these the boy would only be able to hold so much of an adult's finger. And the child had the face of an angel. So pure and innocent! Had he looked like this also, when he had been younger, Francis wondered. Furthermore he wondered, if the natives had some purpose on giving him the child. He looked at the one who was the leader. The man just nodded.  
The Frenchman smiled and put the boy onto his lap, hugging him. The boy didn't mind but giggled with a soft voice.  
"Isn't he cute?", Francis asked Scotland, since he was obviously the only one who was able to speak this language.  
"Aye, he is. . He reminds me a lot aboot ye whin ye wur sae wee.", Alba reached out his hand to pet the child's hair. "Sae soft…"

The Algonquin seemed happy enough to toss the three out into the snow again.  
Being left hungry still, the two made their way back to the next fortress in Nova Scotia. Francis still carried the boy, who also obviously was a nation. If it had been a child of the colonists, it would have been able to either understand Scotland or France. But this one seemed to be only able to talk in the natives language.  
"This is weird. The child in the south could speak our language."  
"Aye. … Ah wonder how come neither Englain or ye teuk care o' that yin. Efter ye left, Englain hud left tae, ah heard."  
"I don't know. Sometimes he is an Idiot.", Francis opened his jacket to let the child slip in for the rest warmth the Frenchman had left. He would protect the child from all evil.  
"Ugh… wee prince.. Ah think we have… someone follaein us.", Alba had a bad feeling in his belly – and it was no hunger. He stopped to turn around – and saw a giant polar bear following them! "Holy jobby! An ice bear!"  
Both screamed and ran away. Little did they know that it was the child's protector and pet. The bear growled and followed them just as quickly. You have no idea how fast a bear could run!

Kanata just waved innocently. "Kumajirou~!", he shouted.  
"Quoi…? Yo-you know this thing?!", Francis gasped and looked at the child. The child only replied with the name of the bear and pointed towards the animal, that had slowed down just as the two adults had.  
"Mibbie it's th' child's pet. . Juist lik' Nessie 'n' me. Or Pierre 'n' ye.", Alasdair huffed and looked still frightened. Of course, Nessie was also very large and powerful. But this bear was massive!  
The white bear came closer to France and the child. He nudged the child with his nose as he was close enough. Kanata giggled and hugged the bear's snout. The bear snorted and got onto his hind legs. He was double as tall as Scotland. But he didn't harm anyone.

"H-how do we get this bear into the … the fortress? Everyone will try and shoot them?", Francis asked as he had regained his composure.  
"Ah wull gang ahead 'n' blether tae thaim. Ye wull huv tae remain in th' woods wi' th' wean 'n' th' bear. God…Na yin wull believe this."  
Their march through the thick snow continued and both hoped not to walk into another trap again. But the bear warned them. He nudged Francis on the side whenever they would walk somewhere they shouldn't. A very smart bear, he was!

When they finally reached the fortress, it was almost evening again. Their hunger was unbearable. Therefore Scotland hurried as he warned the others that a bear and a child would arrive. Nova Scotia had been back long ago. They had been missing the two and couldn't find them despite all the search troops.  
Most of them wondered, how two men could walk into the forest and come back with a child that looked like one of the men.  
Well, the world may never know…


	23. Chapter 22

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

„Kanata."  
„Ist that your name?", France asked with a warm smile. He tried to teach the child to talk in a new language. Right now he had tried if the boy knew a language he knew himself. But it was no hope. So, why not project a new language onto the kid? How about French? It's the best language to learn anyway. Francis smiled. "I'm going to teach you my language. Mmh.. how to start…?"

Francis picked up a sketchbook. He drabbled a cloud on there. "Nuage."  
"Nuu.. nuuaage."  
"That's right. And there's rain. .. La Pluie."  
"La Pluuie."  
"Le Soleil.", Francis sketched a sun.  
"Soleeil."  
"You're wey mair patient wi' him than wi' me, wee prince.", Alasdair interrupted. He had a cup with something to drink and sat onto the table where the Frenchman taught his new'born' son.  
"That's because you're fun to tease."  
"Wee prince?", Kanata asked.  
"Oh keek. He is a fast learner!", the redhead proudly said.

"Always Kanata, Kanata. What about me?", Scotia asked as she came in from playing with the colonists children.  
"You are also important. But didn't you get taught French already?", the Frenchman asked.  
".. That's not it. I just want you to do something with me."  
"Then just say it. I am sure we could arrange something.", Francis smiled.  
"Uughh.. daddy said, you could sew clothes. Why don't you teach me some about this? I know, any girl has to be able to do it."  
"Oui, that's right. But not about the girl part. Clothes are meant to warm you. Everyone who wants warmth should be able to at least sew a shirt. A shirt is a good basic form for all kinds of clothes.", Francis started to explain. "Okay. I guess, Kanata needs a little break here. Écosse, could you give him some food? Just something you're sure he can eat."  
"Aye.", Alasdair smiled. Things seemed to go well between Nova Scotia and France.

First, France and Nova Scotia went over to the storage house in which was also rolls of fabric. Francis taught her about various kinds of fabric and then let her choose among the fabrics. As she was done, they would take the roll over to the McKirkland/Bonnefoy house in the fortress.  
The Frenchman taught her, how to take measure and to project the measures onto the fabric directly. After cutting from the fabric, he had her sew it actually together. The result was a cream colored tunic from rather thick fabric. Perfect for the hardest winter.  
"Thank you, Maman! It looks so wonderful. I love it!"  
"I'm glad you're happy for once. And you did well on the sewing. All stitches are so even…", he hugged his daughter tightly. "And I'm glad when you're not always so demanding. I mean, you could ask nicely and then your father and me are willing to help you. No problem in there."  
"Okay. .. and I'm sorry I ran away yesterday. .. But.. I think, on the other hand.. you would have never gotten the other baby, am I right?"  
"Yea… you could say so.", Francis made a light sour face. He didn't like to think about the night in the net. It was so cold and… so much hunger!

"Now 'Maman' wants something for himself. I'd like a hot bath. So either you help me or you go and help your Papa."  
"I'll help you!", Mhairi chirped. "What do you want me to do?"

In the meantime, Alasdair fed the new Nation Kanata. He thought, some semolina might do. The redhead didn't know if the little nation had already teeth, but he knew that children always loved sweet things. He knew this, because at some time he had to raise his siblings: Wales, Ireland and England. As he cared about the little Francis-lookalike he felt taken back to the time.  
"Ooh, you're sic a cute yin. Juist lik' yer mommy.", he kissed little Kanata onto the top of his head. "Sae gey cute …"  
Since the nation couldn't really reply to something like that, the Scotsman didn't care about the embarrassing words and gestures he made. The child itself wouldn't remember either later on when grown up. The baby nation itself giggled happily and wanted to touch Alasdair's hair.  
"Hahaha, Na, ye can't huv that…Bit this.", the semolina had cooled down, just enough that it wouldn't burn anyone's mouth. The redhead put some on a wooden spoon, blew onto it just to be sure it's really not too hot, and fed it to the blonde boy.

"You're so damn cute, Écosse.", Francis said.  
The redhead jumped and had almost dropped the child. "F-franny… Sin whin urr ye standing thare?"  
"Oh, just a moment.", he was carrying the enamelled clay tub along with Mhairi into the kitchen. "I wanted to take a hot bath. We have been so long in the cold."  
"Oh? Th- That's crakin'…"

"Now you could warm the water I will bring you. Let's take these two pots.. and you scroll up your sleeves, so you don't get burned. You burn only one time. Then never again because you either learned your lesson or you're dead.", Francis explained.  
"Okay, Papa. I'll take good care.  
"Wow, that's the first time you call me Papa."  
"Aye. This is Daddy (Scotland), you are Papa.", Mhairi explained. She appeared pretty grown up already, even though she had still the body of a baby nation.

France brought in the water, but soon was replaced by Alasdair who seemed to care about the Frenchman's wellbeing. Or did he want a bath himself? Mhairi heated the water up all by herself. As Francis had been replaced he watched her doing closely. You could say that she knew how to use her hands. No clumsiness in her motions. Since Kanata was abandoned, the child began to hop down from the chair and walk around by himself to discover his environment. No one really interfered as long as the boy stayed in the room.

The bath then was ready and Francis stripped. He didn't care if his family saw him naked, but Mhairi stared at him. "What… is this?", she asked.  
"It's my crotch.", Francis replied casually and stepped into the hot water. Taking a bar of soap he created some bubbles.  
Alasdair gaped at how easily his 'wife' could say and do such a thing – telling Mhairi the gender difference, that is. The Redhead had paid attention that Mhairi would never get to see such a thing or get to talk about this matters. But now it was too late for him to stop the blonde.  
"I don't have such a thing.", the girl felt at loss.  
"That's because you're a girl. This crotch is what makes me a man.", Francis explained as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  
"So, Daddy has one too?"  
"Oui."  
"And my new baby brother?"  
"Also.", Francis hadn't looked but he was sure. Kanata looked like a girl with the long soft hair, but the face was clearly this of a boy, even if the child had somehow the same beauty as France.

"Why am I the only one who has no crotch? This is no fair! How do I get one?", Mhairi nagged.  
"As far as I am concerned, you will get something else, when you grow up.", France dared to say, being amused by her temper.  
"What is it?"  
"Boobs…"  
"Boobs? And what are those good for? What are these anyway?"  
"They're.. .. well, your breast will enlarge and form into half-spheres.", the Frenchman gestured. "For a normal woman they have the function of feeding a new-born child. But also to please men. Men like boobs..usually."  
"Is that so?", Mhairi looked down at her flat chest that was covered in fine garments. "When do they grow?"  
"I don't know.. to be honest. I never cared /that/ much about women anyway… you know, having your Dad. I got married to him when I was just a little older than you. So… yeah.", Francis shrugged. He never thought about how he had ignored women mostly in his life for what they were. He had lost his mother before he had gotten to know her and Jeanne had been in body covering armor mostly also. Jeanne was a man-woman anyway. She never had talked like a girl. "So I guess you'll just have to tell me, when it is starting."  
"O-okay, I will."  
Eventually, she wouldn't when the time had come. But no one would know.

Some days later, France was called back to Europe once again. Furthermore he was told to present the new nation to his king, since it will become a colony to France. Scotland couldn't come with him once again. He offered to help organise the new nation's territory. France trusted Scotland in this. The redhead couldn't cook or do other things as well as Francis, but he had managed a lot of other things without them very well.  
During the sail towards France, Francis taught Kanata a lot of French words to express himself and also some manners so the child wouldn't feel completely lost at the court of Fontainebleau – the king's residence.

But as the Frenchman arrived in Paris, he saw a lot of uncanny chariots and people standing in front of the palace. He couldn't tell what they were, but they definitely wore oriental fashion. Yet it didn't look they were here for battle.  
After following the long hallways, the Frenchman entered with no problems the throne room. The king was having an audience, and his guests were sitting beside – possibly to watch how things were done in France. The guests were indeed oriental. They were several men and woman sitting on big cushions that looked very comfortable. Both genders of them were veiled, concealed their bodies. Then again the fabrics they used were looking very nice with spicy colours. Every colour very pure. The patterns that were decorating their fashion were confusing but nonetheless beautiful. Admits all of these 'messengers' of the east was a rather large man. The man was wearing a face mask and had his mouth covered by some tight black garment. On his head he was wearing something like a larger round pillow and his body was covered in long, comfortable gowns.

"Bonjour, my liege. I have come to present you the new world nation – Kanata.", Francis bowed before his king and namesake Francis I. The little blonde boy did as well.  
"Bonjour my nation. I welcome you and hope your travel was well."  
"Oui, I had no serious problems on the long ocean towards here.", Francis stared shortly towards the foreigners to indicate the question what they were doing here. In his opinion his king was owing him an explanation.  
"I am glad to hear so. … Oh yea, and we have some nice guests here. They were waiting for you all the time. Let me introduce to you: The Ottoman Empire – Sadiq Adnan."

The man in question nodded and stood up to step towards the nation, and Francis could have bet that even without this giant turban-hat-thingy, Sadiq must have been towering over him. Even taller than Scotland – and the Ottoman Empire wasn't even wearing high heeled shoes, just simple oriental slippers. Due to this height difference, Francis became scared of the tall nation.  
But as the foreign man with the covered face spoke, it seemed like a total different man. Sadiq Adnan spoke perfect French without the least hint of an accent.  
"I greet you, Kingdom of France. My Sultan Suleiman I. had heard a lot from you and your culture and became very interested in you. He sent me to learn about your country and culture. Also, I have to become better with your language. Please, accept this alliance I am offering you as a token of friendliness."  
Francis was baffled and stared with an open mouth at the tall man. Did this really just come from the mouth of the foreigner? He must have been daydreaming!

So what? Having an alliance with such a strong partner? The Ottoman Empire was practically the whole Middle East, plus Greece and a portion of northern Africa. And then you could also always say that the Arabian people were really smart. A lot of people from the west underestimated, and still underestimate them. That the personification here spoke fluent and accent less French just prove it. For how long had he been learning? But what could France offer this nation? Nothing but his own body. His Land, his Cuisine, his Wine. His knowledge was only just so basic. Despite being over 1000 years old already, the Frenchman felt very stupid in front of this enigmatic man. But then again the man had been coming all the way and asked /him/ if /he/ wanted an alliance. Now this made the blonde question what the man wanted from him.  
"Now…excuse me my rudeness, Monsieur. Really. I am sorry. But I'd wish to know… what do /you/ gain by this alliance? I can see the benefits on my side, but not those on yours."

The man from the east didn't mind at all.  
"This was a very wise question in fact. One shouldn't buy things blind. The reason I am asking, is because I saw you in the little war in Hungary. And I know where your country is here. The geographical position gives a lot of advantage. It's a lot of benefit in there having a friend in the west, when there is so many enemies around. Do you see, what I mean?"  
"Would you ask Espagne or Angleterre out, if you had the chance? I have a lot of enemies."  
"About 'Espagne', he and I are worst enemies so far. He is not accepting my religion in his place. And 'Angleterre' is quite the same with his obese king. And since most of your enemies are my enemies as well, idea was close having you as a friend. Was that so wrong?", the Ottoman man seemed offended behind his mask.  
"Non. Not at all. Just the thing is with such a powerful Alliance partner, that one has to absolutely rely on the partner. There cannot be a second of mistrust. Things have to be sorted out before the alliance is made.", France knew he was walking on thin eyes. But he knew that these things were very essential. And since his king didn't interfere it meant that France was to choose all by himself. Not a thing that happened often.  
"That is very true. But you should always be able to rely onto an Alliance partner, independent from their strength."  
"Right.", Francis made a face. He also saw from an angle that Kanata was getting bored and stepped from one leg to another. "Under these circumstances I am willed to accept you as an alliance partner."

There was an audible breath among the king's court. Everyone seemed relieved that the alliance between the Ottoman Empire and France was settled. Only a silent voice in Francis' head reminded him of the promise he had given to Alasdair – that he'd be the only true love of the Scotsman and would never betray him. Now, was this alliance also meant to be very close? Or just as far like the one with Poland? The blonde noticed how man alliances he had right now: Scotland, Poland, Hungary and the Ottoman Empire. Four very different people. And still there was always a side in Francis that could agree with one of them.


	24. Chapter 23

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The French king gave a little party on the occasion of this happy outcome and due to the visit of the Ottoman Empire itself. But before the party really started, Francis had to take care of little Kanata.  
"Monseigneur, can't he be playing with some other children? I am sure there is something for him to do. Or even better, a room where I can stay and refresh from the long travel – along with the boy. The new world is not around the corner. I know I might be impolite to the guest once more, but I insist on taking care of the child. Early childhood is important. Even for a nation."  
"…You must be speaking of experience.", the king said and waved for a servant. "I don't mind if you take your time refreshing and taking care of the new nation. But you could be there this evening."  
The king told the servant what to do. Even a bath was included and despite the poor little tub in Kanata, this one was large enough for both nations (Francis and Kanata) to hop in.

"Aaww~ I just luuurve hot baths.", Francis moaned as he stretched out in the warm water. There were also soapy bubbles floating around everywhere. Little Kanata was just as hypnotized by the bubbles, trying to catch them as they left the tub's area.  
"Ah, I know. You still need a proper human need, mon petit. How about…", the Frenchman frowned and stared at the boy. He roamed his head for a name the boy wouldn't hate later on. Names were so important! Francis disliked his own name for being kind of uncreative. No big guessing what his name was after they'd knew what nation he was. Boring. Very boring. There wasn't many option with 'Kanata' anyway.  
"What about… 'Matthieu'? It means 'god's gift' and implies a great luck. And I am very lucky to have you, petit Matthieu. Do you like your human name?"  
"What?"  
"I will name you 'Matthieu Bonnefoy'. As my son. I am France, but also Francis Bonnefoy, you see?"  
"I see…", Matthieu giggled. "I am Matthieu. Matt… hieu."  
The boy tried to get used to the sound of his name and found liking in it. But soon got bored and got back to his playing.

After washing both their blonde hair, Francis went to the room they were told to use for to remain. Francis couldn't remember the last time he had been to a real palace like this. Fontainebleau was actually real modern. No wind chilled through the corridors and the stones the palace was made of were invisible behind wall plasters and wallpaper, or more precise: tapestry. And just like the house Alasdair and Francis had in Perth, this palace also had windows. Some with coloured glass some with normal.  
Francis wondered if he could invite Scotland to live here with him. On the other hand he was also a newbie to the life in a palace. He didn't know any manners. Or any new fashion. But he was considered the most stylish nation. Well, how to be stylish, when all you do is going to war?, the French kingdom thought.  
"When will this goddamn war be over?", he sighed, thinking loud.

"I will ask my sultan to help you end this war.", a voice said.  
"Quoi? What the… Ottoman Empire, what are you … am I in the wrong room?"  
"No, you are not. This is the room your king has assigned for you. But I decided to spend a little more time with my new alliance partner. You seem to be a very interesting man. I'd love to talk a little more with you.", the man smirked. The black veil that was covering his mouth and nose was no longer there.  
"Ugh… s-sure. I was just… you know… tired.", Francis frowned. Matthieu on the contrary didn't mind and went straight to the second bed close to the window.  
"I won't keep you long. Don't worry. I just want to talk.", Sadiq Adnan removed his mask.  
Francis couldn't help but stare at the face that was revealed to him. The blonde paled and walked back. It wasn't that the face was outrageous. The Ottoman Empire was no freak. But there was this tension in the air that something bad was about to happen. Was it really a good idea to form an alliance?  
The taller man pinned Francis against the next wall. Francis could smell a sweet scent coming from the Ottoman Empire.

"Look, either you make it difficult or you help me that we go through this…", the Turk said.  
"W-what..? But I am married! As a human being."  
"That Alliance with Scotland? True, you have been with him for a very long time. But it is still an Alliance. And you're nothing more than Nations. If your 'husband' is going to do something about this, he will have to put up with the whole Middle East. Keep that in mind."  
"Is this a threat? Before you lay your hands on him, you have to kill me first. And then you can stick your alliance into your ass!", Francis turned from fear to courage in a moment.  
"Haha. Like I said, you're a very interesting man. But you are still way weaker than me. Before you can protect your precious Scotland I rolled over you!"  
"You wouldn't be asking for an alliance if there wasn't something you wanted from me."  
As a reaction, the taller man pulled back and released the blonde. He was not an animal.  
"What do you want from me by the way? When you find me so disgusting…"  
"You are not disgusting. I just don't want… /that/. I want to end these wars in Italy. And I want to lead a normal life with Scotland. He is a very important man to me. More than an alliance partner. I 'married' him when I was a child. And then he taught me a lot of things. Like how to fight, how to ride a horse. Everything. And he stood by my side in the 100years war with England."

"I see."  
"Oui. And I had hoped to get an insight to your people. They do have the reputation to be very smart and… stuff…Only problem is that here in the western world people spread rumours about them being wild and savage. But what can they say? Most of them haven't even seen people like you in their lives. I don't believe in their bad rumours, I want to make an image of my own."  
"… Too bad you are so very much engaged with this Scotland.", Sadiq muttered.  
"But that doesn't mean we cannot be friends. Friendship is a rare thing among nations. And like I said, when in an alliance you can trust each other blindly, it is a 'bond of steel'. No other nation can break it. There is no need to sexual attractiveness. Nations can't have babies like this anyway."  
"But you have a son?"  
"I found him in the new world. He resembles me but he doesn't share my blood. I make the best of it. He is all I have hoped for."  
"I'd like to revise my statement. You are smart, but also very stupid. You try and grasp onto human things. A husband and a family. Some day you might want to kill yourself."  
"I might. But I will not succeed."  
"And what 'bond of steel' is that when I know that you could lose your sanity any day?"  
"I don't lose my sanity that easy. I have been through some mental shit already. Things that don't kill you make you stronger. I don't know how old you are, but haven't you been to places where you think, you would go insane?"

The Ottoman sighed and turned his back towards the Frenchman.  
"I have been to such a place. … It has been a while."  
"You don't need to talk about it. But then again, this shows that the thing back then didn't make you fragile."  
"No. But you still have something to lose."  
"Don't we all have something to lose? You have an entire Empire."  
"… Let's call it an end for this kind of conversation. We are not getting anywhere."  
"Indeed. And it is late. Bonne Nuit, Ottoman Empire."  
"Call me Sadiq. İyi geceler, Fransa"

On the next day, there was oriental dancers as a little entertainment during breakfast. Francis enjoyed the show, but kept his mind onto Italy. How would the next battles go with his new very strong ally?  
As soon as his king gave the order, he would go off to the south. But no such order came from the king. By the evening, a story-teller from the orient was sitting among the people of the French court, and was telling stories and answering questions on and about the life of the people in the orient. Matthieu was fascinated and sucked whole stories into his little brain. He could even retell them all in front of others. Francis was amazed by this skill and wished that the boy would keep that attitude when he would grow up.  
All in all they just had a nice time. But then, new battles in Italy were announced. Just this time, Francis had to leave Matthieu at the court to some well-trusted nurses and was to take Sadiq with him.  
According to Francis I. (the king), the reason for the new start of battles was the death of Francesco Sforza the duke of Milan. Charles V.'s son Philip was to inherit Milan, but the French king was against it and therefore had to send his troops to regain power over Milan.

But despite Sadiq's help, they couldn't get Milan back. All they got was Turin. But due to that attempt, Charles made Spain invade South France. The French that fled even left over-ripe to rotten fruit on the trees just so that the invaders might eat from them and get sick.  
With the threat of the Ottoman Empire helping the French kingdom who were really powerful together, Charles had to give some territories (Savoy and Piedmont, so Charles could keep Milan) and sign a treaty to make peace for once. Two years had passed since the Ottoman forces had joined the war on the French side and it already paid off so well, that the French king brought large gifts towards the sultan in Istanbul.

Once more, Francis used the break to spend the time with his little family. He was allowed to stay 4 years before in 1542, the battles continued due to the failure of the 'truce of nice', the contract that had settled peace between Francis I. and Charles V.. The first battles were in the 'low countries' that would later be called the 'Netherlands'. The battles then went back to the northern Italy. The battles over territory continued and also Henry VIII. joined once more.  
But eventually during the war, Charles wanted to make a contract in which he would marry his daughter to the younger son of Francis I.. The only problem was then that the young prince, the 'duke of Orléans' died around 1544 and therefore made it impossible to settle for a peace that would last. The Hapsburg king even went so far and accused Francis I. to have poisoned his own son just so he would rub it into his face that there would never be harmony between the 'sassy France' and the surrounding nations.

At the same time as France had to re-join the war in 1542, Scotland had to as well. They left their children, New Scotland and New France together back in the colonies where they were watched by nurses and teachers.  
Alasdair was encountered in the battle of Hadden Rig close to the Scottish border. The Scottish won this battle, but were soon overshadowed by the battle of Solway Moss in November. The English won this one and even made a lot of prisoners – among them Alasdair. It was said that the prisoners had been treated well and that they would be treated much like guests until a ransom was paid for them and they were free to go.  
But Arthur had other plans. He didn't let Alasdair go until Francis would show up and pay the ransom. He was very excited, if his plan would work out.

"How much do you want for him?", Francis asked as he had somehow managed to make his way to England. Arthur and Francis were standing in some kind of bureau and Arthur was enjoying himself leaning onto the desk behind him.  
"Well, how much do you have with you?"  
"uhm…", the Frenchman frowned. "I have 2 million Écus with me…and some jewellery. Excuse me, but I was busy with war, so I couldn't really grab some money."  
"Oh yes, I almost forgot. Your pesky little attempt in 'grabbing some Italy'. I'd say, 2 million Écus is quite a value… and as for the rest, I don't know how much that is. I know you like fancy stuff for to decorate yourself. But is it only cheap fashion shit or is it real stuff?"  
"I have valuable stuff with me. Real gold, real gems… even some from the Middle East."  
"From the Ottoman Empire? Oh I bet, Alasdair would die to know about your new little affair with another guy. He will be /so/ happy to see you!"  
"What are you doing? And why are you keeping /your brother/ as a hostage?"  
"Can't you tell? Brighten up, frog eater! I'm just trying to evaluate what my brother is worth to you. And I think… he'd be better off dying than being with you. 2 million of your gold coins is by far not enough."  
"What does that matter? It is all I have!", and just as France had said the second thing, he regretted it immediately. No, it was not all he had. He had himself. His own body. And all the places in his kingdom he could bargain with. Even without the agreement of his king, he could give all of it away. And then there were also his new colonies. No! he couldn't give Matthieu away. Alasdair wouldn't like that too.

"Well?", Arthur grinned. He had noticed the inner battle of Francis.  
"Oui, it is all I can give to you."  
"Then I am afraid, I can really not give you back your beloved husband. He will stay and maybe… yes, maybe sign a treaty that he will give himself to me. As an act of Union. Doesn't that sound fun?"  
"Non, not to me. And why are you such a bitch again? I thought you would have changed!"  
"I thought so too. But when we were out to get this boy in the new world I noticed that the only way for me is to battle, to fight in order to gain something. There is no such thing like gift giving to a nation."  
Francis made a miserable face. Was England serious about this? "I still can't give you more. I can't give you places in my country. Besides you still have some of these, I guess. Calais, you know?"  
"Yes, and it has become boring. I might as well have to give it back to you soon."  
"Then what do you want? Paris? I can't give it to you! You silly lapin!"

"What about… you give me your body for a whole night? I sure would know a use for that."  
Francis paled. What did the younger blonde mean by that?  
"You could even keep your money and twinkling stuff.", England promised.  
"I want to see Alasdair first.", the older blonde said confidently. Yes, before there was any bargain he'd had to see his 'price'.  
England didn't answer right away, but thought for a moment and casted a quick glance at the window. "I know a better idea. You… stay here. You can take a look out of the window. And I let Alasdair go for the time being. You will see us down on the street there. And I will have a chariot prepared for my brother as well that will take him home. Then I will come back here and take you… to my house. Does that sound like a deal?"  
"Sounds good.", Francis had to admit.  
"But this service will cost you at least 24 hours with me. Do you still want to do it?"  
"Oui. I want to. At any cost."

"Very well.", Arthur smiled and made his way out of the room. A few minutes later, Francis could see him on the street down at some lamp post. The redhead was with him and Francis could also see his face well. Arthur kept his promise. Still France wondered what England was going to do with him. He had seen the place here. There were way too many guards to escape. He would have to keep his promise as well.


	25. Chapter 24

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

"Have you seen? There is nothing to worry about.", Arthur said and smiled as he stood in the door of the bureau he had welcomed the French kingdom.  
"Oui. Have you told him I was here?"  
"No. He would have been fed up and not leaving if I had so. I know him. Now shall we go?", the Englishman bowed a little and offered Francis to step through the door first – which the Frenchman also did. Francis was still very unsure, yet he knew that he would do anything to save his husband. It was a test to show the worth of this Alliance. But why was Norway never really involved? He was also an alliance partner but never cared about the other two. In fact he had held northern islands from Scotland for a long time as if they were full blown enemies still. Norway would never help one of the other partners.

"Your house is beautiful.", Francis said with a slim voice as they made their way through the front lawn. The older nation could have sworn to see little dancing lights in the house much like fireflies. But as they entered, they were gone. The house was pitch-black inside. The curtains weren't drawn but being it night, there was hardly any source of light strong enough to illuminate the rooms from the outside. It gave the scene an eerie touch. England slammed the door shut and pressed the slightly taller man firmly onto the door, just to catch his lips. The kiss was fierce and Francis tasted the scent of roses and citrus fruits – possibly from something the Englishman had downed some time ago. Tea wasn't popular in England yet.  
"I am grateful to have the honour of having you here this evening.", Arthur said with a sweet voice the other man had never heard before. Not even when Arthur had been a child and wanted something. Besides that the younger one never wanted anything really so much that he would beg.

"How about we just pretend being married for the time being? You'll be the wife and I'm your caring husband."  
"For a wife I'd have to know where your kitchen is, at least. Don't you think so?", Francis retorted. Seriously, he would play along but not as much as eating the garbage England produced from good ingredients.  
"Aww. I had hoped you'd treat me with your food once again. I have been waiting for it so long…This way.", England walked through the rooms and showed him around.  
"Then I at least know why I am here."  
"You're free to go wherever you like – but you have to remain in these walls within these 24 hours."  
"And what if your house catchs fire?"  
"You'll have to remain inside and burn, frog."  
"Ew…"

Being it night-time, they had to come down to sleep.  
"I have only one bed. So … we might be able to snuggle together to use it. Or you use the floor to my feet."  
"Don't you have a couch? I think I'm too old to sleep on the cold floor."  
"You're such a pussy, French frog. And you agreed that you would do everything what I tell you to."  
"…Then let's try and snuggle together. But nothing more than that.", Francis was beginning to have a bad feeling in his stomach despite he hadn't eaten any of the food England would have made (or leftover).  
And so they snuggled together. It was nothing like the broad bed Francis had shared with the older brother of England. Chances were high that one of them would kick out the other during the night. But Arthur remained surprisingly calm still.

In the next morning Francis woke to a sensation of someone stroking his hair. He knew he wasn't home and that he was with England. All of the Kirklands were people who would rise early in the morning. Did they have no sense for enjoyment?  
"Enjoying my hair, Angleterre?", the hand stopped.  
"I didn't know you were awake."  
"Don't you think that a gesture like this wakes me up?", Francis opened his eyes and turned to a set of green ones.  
"Uh.. well.. ..you slept late. I stroked your hair for hours now."  
"…You're sick!"  
"No. And you promised me that you'd be mine for the next 24 hours.. eh.. I don't know how many hours exactly are left, but until this evening, you are mine. No doubt in that.", there was clocks already around - even in pocket size – but not everyone had one.  
"I know, I know. … I'll make us breakfast."

The French got up and walked down to the kitchen like it was his duty. He couldn't relax around his former enemy, so he just wished to pull it through – and go afterwards. Being busy in the kitchen made him think about the things he would do once he'd get out of Englands house. He could go to Scotland in Perth. The war in Italy was still on… but Alasdair meant everything to him and he wanted to know if the redhead was safe and healthy.  
"Hmmm… smell's great. What kind of breakfast are you making?", Arthur asked and snuggled up to the other blonde before him. France stood at the stove with a pan and made fried eggs with bacon.  
"A proper English Breakfast - French style. I hope you'll like it."  
"I think I will.", Arthur faintly said and remained beside his guest.

They ate their breakfast in silence. Arthur said something every now and then but soon noticed that France was absentminded. As England got angry (and was finished with his breakfast), he smacked his plate across the table onto Francis' head.  
"Will you fucking pay attention, you bloody frog?!"  
"Quoi…?"  
"Look, I try to talk to you but every time I try, you block me off! What is it with you!? Didn't you promise to play along being the loving wife? All you think about is yourself! I bet you already plan what you do after you got rid of me! You heartless beast!", more porcelain flew towards Francis – who managed to catch some of that with his hands.  
"I'm sorry, Angleterre…"  
"Don't call me that! You know my name!", Arthur was crying by now, but was also blushing due to his rage. Now being without any porcelain, he threw his fists at the taller nation.  
"Stop it! You know fully well that we will never get along! And you know why! I will never forgive you!", Francis caught the blows, most blocked by his hands, but he never fought back. Soon his face was covered by more bruises and some blood. Actually, Francis still carried some injuries from the war in Italy, so England just added some as if to make an improvement to the painting.

Then Francis grabbed the fierce blonde's wrists and hold them tight so England wouldn't hurt him anymore.  
"I said stop it."  
Instead of answering, Arthur just held onto Francis' wrists as well and kneed into his belly. France fell over and gasped for air. England didn't think twice and pinned Francis to the ground. The green eyes looked dull and full of hatred.  
"Now, now… what do I do with someone who breaks an important promise? I can't hurt Scotland anymore right now… he is too far away. But I can have my way with you. Let's see…", Arthurs eyes wandered around.

The kitchen of the Englishman was large enough so a little sitting group with table and four chairs found place – on which Francis and Arthur just had been sitting for breakfast. There was no problem in getting any 'tools' from the kitchen, such as knives, spoons and other things that might come in handy when you plan something eerie. But how to make sure that the bloody frog would remain pinned on the spot?  
Arthur just dragged Francis to where he could reach for what he needed. As easy as that. Francis still didn't struggle after all.  
"What are you doi-?", Francis gasped as he saw England take a big knife from one of the drawers. Was he really going to cut him? What the hell was wrong? Now he began to struggle as if his life depended on it – not that he'd lose it.  
"Just remain still…", Arthur said and came dangerously close with the knife.

But he didn't come far with it. The knife flew through the air and stuck into the wooden board on the worktop.  
"Don't ye think you're a bawherr tae young fur this kind o' speil, wee brother?", Alasdair asked as he entered the kitchen, a gun in his hand and a cigar on his lips. Well, this was a new habit…but he looked cool with that.  
"Alasdair!", both blondes cried – one in relief, one in anger.  
"Noo git aff mah guidwife.", the redhead commanded with a dangerously low voice.  
Arthur obeyed as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. He was in his own territory after all – even if unarmed. And Alasdair had to reload his weapon before shooting another bullet. Then Arthur noticed that it was one of these fast loading new guns. Damnit! Deciding that this was the best he could do, he just backed off …until he noticed that he was very close to the knife that was still stuck in the wooden board.  
France had gotten up by that time and hid behind Scotland, who didn't leave Arthur out of his eyes. "Don't ye dare daein' that, wee yin …"

Arthur paled and didn't do anything.  
"Raise yer hauns.", Arthur obeyed. This way, Alasdair and Francis could leave the house safely.  
In the front lawn was only one horse, so Francis sat up first and Alasdair behind him. The redhead wasted no time and rode away.  
It sure had been some time since they had been last riding on the same horse and Francis regretted that they were sitting like this. Either his balls got crushed or he was dangerously close to Alba's front…  
Apart from this, his face and arms still ached from the fight with England.

"I'm glad you saved me. Thank you... thank you so much, Alasdair!", Francis said and tried to not sound too much like he was crying. But he wanted to cry, or at least his body wanted to after the shock. Would England have ever stabbed him really? He should have tried more determined to please Arthur. Then this wouldn't have happened, right?  
"I'm glad tae that ah saved ye. Juist a bawherr efter 'n' … noo ah don't wantae think aboot that. 'n' ah thank ye that ye saved me tae. Ah wid huv ne'er made it oot o' th' jyle wi'oot yer hulp. And… thay even gave me a golden chain. Sic mad rocket wee Sassenach fowk"  
"You knew it was me?"

The night after Alasdair had been sent towards Perth wasn't quite correct. The sly redhead had jumped out of the chariot a few miles out of the city. Then he had run back, just to see Francis and Arthur walk down an abandoned street. He had even knocked down a robber who had attempted to step towards the two blondes. Then, the Scotsman had spent quite some time on the tree and had watched how the two nations went to bed. After apparently no further action, he had decided to get some help…  
He had his men in this city who supplied him with clothes so he'd be not so easy recognisable as a Scotsman, and then they had also given him one of the new guns. The problem was that they had to be lit, but they had figured that a nice cigar would also do the job. So this night, Alasdair had just started his new habit of smoking. He disliked the taste first but knew that it was a necessity to use this gun efficiently.  
After a few hours of rest, he had made his way back to Arthur's house – just in time when they had started their fight. Alba had waited what would happen further. When Arthur had grabbed the knife it was all decided for the Scotsman.

"You're so cool with that cigar... though the smoke makes it hard to breath for me."  
"Ye micht git used tae it. Teuk me a few hours."  
"Do you have more of them?"  
"Aye. Ah huv…Bit ah don't ken howfur tae git mair efter ah used thaim up. Well…", Alasdair frowned.  
"You're my hero!", Francis smiled.  
The redhead blushed. But he also saw that his lover was in a bad condition. As soon as they had left England, they could stop at a Loch to take care of the wounds.

Later at the lake/lock, Francis took some time to stare at himself, at the reflection the perfectly still surface created. But then the surface got disturbed.  
"Din think aboot yer looks. Tae me, ye wull aye be bonny.", Alasdair said as he kneeled beside Francis. It was his hand in the water who had made the surface curl.  
The Frenchman only started to cry now for real. He was through with everything. It seemed like all the world was full of anger and disappointment. And even when he had won a battle, he was never really happy! What was with all the senseless wars? Just to get some territory? So many good people that died! And Francis? He had gotten kind of used to it, but he was missing a lot of things in his life when being out in the battlefield. There was no friends, no family to back him up. In fact he was fighting his family: his little brothers Spain and the Holy Roman Empire – and to some point also the Italy brothers.  
Furthermore, he had no time to dress up pretty. His face got ruined by now. And what was even worse was the fact that he couldn't really spend time with Alasdair and the two cute children they had now. All the time he was practically wasting on the battlefield, he would miss out on how the children would ask for things like toys and food. He would miss out on their schooling, on their everything!

"H-hey, Din greet! please! Din greet, wee prince! a loue ye, aye?", Alasdair got worried and hugged the younger nation tightly. He didn't know what was going on. It was said that France was a wimpy nation. But growing up beside the Frenchman had taught that Francis only cried when things were really serious. He couldn't really do something but hugging the crying nation and kiss him repeatedly.  
But it helped. Francis felt secure and felt even more that Alasdair was there when he needed him.  
"Shhh… It's okay… Ye wur pure brave offering yersel' tae Arthur lik' this. Ah dinnae ken that he wid tick out… sae a'm sorry an' a'.", actually he could have blamed the Frenchman for getting him out of prison. Now he had been staying there rather than having him cry in his arms.  
"Oui…I had to…I couldn't have taken it, if he had kept you there forever. I don't know.. what he would have done to you..-sob-…But also, he would not take my money. .. I offered him so much…-sniffle-…but he wouldn't take it.", Francis managed to say.  
"Hmm… Aye. Bit keek. Noo wur baith oot. 'n' it doesn't keek lik' someone is follaein us either. Wur jammy.", he kissed the French forehead. Then he took his handkerchief, wetted it in the water and washed Francis face, washed away both tears and blood.


	26. Chapter 25

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

After they had returned home, they could take care of their children. The children had missed their parents just as much as the parents their children. Francis wanted to promise not to return to soon to the war. He would struggle against his king's order. Soon an argument arose.  
"Ye can't gang against yer king. Ah ken th' war is tairible bit ye huv tae be thare fur yer fowk. Ah haven't said anythin' afore fur ah ken howfur it's.", Alasdair said while he had little Matthieu on his arm. The child looked sad at his Papa.  
"But I want to. You have been there all the time for the children. And what about me? When I come home they will not recognise me!"  
"Thay wull. Don't underestimate oor bairns. Richt, Matthieu? Mhairi?"  
"I missed Papa…", New-France (Matthieu) said.  
"Aye, I missed him too. And I will not forget him. .. On the other hand, I don't want him to always leave. We are a family, aren't we? And war is bad.", Mhairi said and got up from the sheep fur lying before the fireplace in the living room. She walked over to Francis and hugged him tightly.  
Francis smiled and kneeled beside her to hug her back. "See?"  
"Ye gie th' bairns a ill example. Thair duty wull be tae be thare fur thair fowk yin day an' a'.", Alasdair replied after a sigh.

The peace in Scotland didn't last long either. Especially after James V. of Scotland had passed in the winter of 1542. Having left behind no male successors, Scotland's fate was now in the hands of the infant Mary Stuart. Yet, she was too young to rule. Therefore, Regent Arran, a Scottish nobleman, was in charge of the actual ruling business, until a solution was found.  
In 1544, Alasdair had to join the war in the time of the rough wooing. The rough wooing was about Henry VIII. of England wanting to marry his only son to the Scottish infant Mary Stuart. The Scottish of course refused to give the Scottish 'princess' to England as they had plans for to marry her with a French dauphin, making her the next queen of France. As far as it was possible, France and Scotland always tried to have a French and Scottish couple on their throne. Just like James V.'s (Scottish king of the time) wife had been a princess from France.

The 'burning of Edinburgh' was the first major act the English did in this round of the wars England vs. Scotland.  
The Scottish army observed the landing of the English force at that day in May, but didn't interfere. The provost of Edinburgh was compelled to allow the English to gain control over Leith and Edinburgh. But within the Edinburgh Castle, the Scottish artillery harassed the English, driving them out of the city.  
The English still managed to leave the harbour loaded with captured goods and two ships that had actually belonged to James V. – aside from many houses burning to their ground, thus being it called the 'burn of Edinburgh'.  
As a result of this heinous deed, news spread throughout Europe and an English diplomat pointed out, that Edinburgh should be used as a capital, rather than Perth – being it so much easier accessible by the sea. The diplomat underlined his thesis by the chronicles of two Scottish philosophers. Still, to fix the damage the English had caused with their act took very long.  
It seemed like Alasdair also learned that the hurt his little brother was causing him would heal less and less.

The war over in Italy continued. The Ottoman Empire was sending angry letters via Pierre to France, since Francis wasn't returning to the battle field. The fun fact was, that France won the wars up until 1546 without even being there. Instead, Francis supported his husband in the battles the redhead had with his little brother.  
The English still had noblemen in capture and Henry threatened to use force on them, if the Scottish parliament refused to give out the infant Mary. But instead of making an alliance with England, the parliament wanted to renew the alliance with France, much to the delight to the Auld Alliance couple.  
Even more delighting, the following Battle of Ancrum Moor, on which the Scottish could put a temporary end to the English depredations in the Scottish border and lowlands.

A small portion of the Scottish troops made a feint attack and then retreated southwest, just to lure the English forces into a trap. It worked – the English followed in pursuit, just to find out that the large Scottish army was hidden on the far side of the Palace Hill. The English practically had been walking into the dragon's mouth! Moreover, with the sun in their backs and the gunpowder smoke blowing into the face of the English, the Scottish had an easy game.  
The English army soon retreated, broke and was forced to scatter through a hostile countryside.

News of this victorious day came around which stimulated the French king to send out his troops to help the Scottish.  
The war came to an end for the time being – mostly due to the death of Henry VIII., only to break out anew, and perhaps even more violent with the new king Edward VI. and his protector Somerset.

In the Siege of St. Andrew's Castle, there was an inner conflict in Scotland with the Government fighting along with the French against the Protestants who had help from England.  
At this time, Alasdair didn't join the fight. He either didn't want to stand between his own people and then again this conflict was also making him sick. Francis found it easier to join the battle. He thought that there was this other side of Scotland… and if they would lose this fight, they might as well lose their connection to each other, their Alliance. With these parties fighting against each other it was obvious that the Protestants were against the traditional connection between the Scottish and the French.

The reason for the Siege at St. Andrew's Castle was a group of Protestants killing a Scottish Cardinal. They remained in the castle and were besieged by the governor of Scotland, Regent Arran, in representation for the infant Mary. Over 18 months the Scottish government made little impact. But as the French naval force bombarded the castle, the Protestants finally surrendered.  
The Protestant garrison, including the preacher John Knox, a Scottish lowland, were taken to France and used as galley slaves. John Knox had cursed the French as he was taken away, that the Auld Alliance will very soon find their end…

In the following Spring after the victory on St. Andrew's, the Francis I. of France died. Henry II. followed him onto the throne with Catherine de Medici, a merchants daughter, as a wife and Queen of France.. Henry II. continued the wars in Italy.

By now, the war between Scotland and England was no longer because of an Alliance but also due to Religion. When in 1518, Martin Luther more or less founded the protestant movement, no one would know that the word would get around so quickly. Every, the Christian church was split into two major movements: the catholic and the protestant. France and Scotland should have been glad for it, because Martin Luther had also opened the eyes of a lot of people that e.g. burning a witch (Jeanne for example) was a real bad thing. But now, there was way more to go. While the catholic church was dictated by the pope and lower classed clerics, who would demand money from the believers so they wouldn't go to hell, the protestants looked at the world with open eyes without any ridiculous prejudice. The protestant then had started to form groups and also name people who would lead smaller groups, much like catholic priests.  
England very soon became protestant in their view of things, even when Henry VIII. had formed his own church, the 'Anglican' church so he would be able to do his things without the agreement of the pope.  
Scotland and France had remained catholic, but now soon the 'protestant plague' would also spread in their places.

In the battle of Pinkie Cleugh in September 1547, the English tried to attack the Scottish anew, this time also with the help of troops of Hapsburg territory: German mercenaries and Italian mounted arquebusiers. The English had also improved their weapons, so they'd be more advanced.  
The English troops occupied Falside Hill, only 3 miles (roughly 5 km) east to the Scottish main position. In an outdated chivalric gesture, 1500 Scottish horsemen were led close to the English encampment and challenged an equal number of English cavalry to fight. The English agreed, but didn't send out cavalry, but heavily armoured men-at-arms and lighter demi-lancers to cut up the Scottish horsemen. This failed action cost the Scottish troops most of their cavalry.

At the same day, Somerset, the English protector of the young king, sent a detachment with guns to occupy and watch over the Scottish troops nearby. During the night, Somerset received anachronistic challenges from Arran. Quite peaceful man-against-man combats. But Somerset rejected them.

On the next day, Somerset send out his troops to slaughter down the Scottish. It was a decisive English victory. Over 15,000 Scottish were killed and 2000 were taken prison. It was very uneven.  
Almost at the same time, Alasdair and Francis had decided that it was more save for Mary Stuart to flee from Scotland.  
"Urgh.. Sooner or efter thay wull force her… tae get… merrit tae that Sassenach bas.", The redhead managed to say. He felt the pain as his men were slaughtered horribly on the banks of the River Esk. Francis tried to comfort him. Mhairi and Matthieu had went along and were sitting on the other side inside the chariot. The plan was for all four of them to get the infant Mary out of the Castle in Perth and over to the harbour and just get a ship to sail back to France where they would be safe. Just until Mary and the young Dauphin Francis – who would be Francis II. would be old enough to marry and be the next reigning couple to reign over both France and Scotland if it had to be.  
"That won't happen.", Francis convinced. "You wait here. I will sneak in and get her."  
"Bit-", Francis hopped out of the chariot before Alasdair was able to say anything.

The Frenchman had seen the girl very often before when they would have visited the Scottish court. Here, it was still peaceful. But for how long? After passing the guards and the main gate, he came to the throne room. He looked everywhere, until he made it to a room where he heard a girl singing and four other girls around.  
"W-who of you is Mary?", Francis asked.  
"Me.", said one of the girls.  
"But me too."  
"And me."  
"I'm Mary."  
"Oh, stop it! This is mental. You can't be all Mary.", Francis interrupted them.  
"Yes, we can. Mary is a common name, Mister.", the girls giggled. "You're France, aren't you? Well, then you want Mary Stuart. We're all Mary – but with other last names."  
"Mary and the four Marys?", Francis had to smile. The girls were kind of cute. "hé bien, but we have no time to play. I have the mission to get all of you on board of a ship to sail to my home."  
"Can my Half-brother come with us?", Mary Stuart asked, getting up and packing a bag with all that she found important: Some toys and her favourite dresses. The other four Marys started the same. They weren't slow either, more like four little girls playing military. In only 5-7 minutes they were done.  
"Ugh… sure, but the chariot is going to be stuffed.", Francis stammered.  
"That's no problem. We have a larger chariot on our hands and Mary is an excellent driver.", Stuart said and smiled convincingly.

Francis was glad that everything went so smoothly. Those little kids sure knew how to remain calm and organised during such a chaotic time. In just half an hour they had made it to a ship and had the captain convinced to sail to France straight.  
During the whole day, Alba was coughing up blood and was getting a fever – turning from ice-cold temperature to almost volcanic like heat. Francis tried his best to comfort him, but both couldn't help but wait. The time when Alasdair was clear in his head, he was grateful that they were on the right way. Save travel to France, where everything had been fine.

"Wah~ I am so excited to see France!", Mary Stuart said as she walked on the planks of the ship. Mhairi was playing with two of the four Marys and Matthieu was playing with the illegitimate half-brothers of the Stuart Mary. They were all more or less the same age in their bodies. Francis had ordered them to dress a little poorer so other sailors and ships – possibly English ships – would not suspect anything. They had even set up the English marine flag instead of a Scottish or French one.

By the time they finally reached a French harbour, the sun had set long ago. The children were sleeping under deck and Francis still walked on deck just to see how they entered their homeland.  
"I'm sae glad we made it …", Alasdair whispered as he leaned onto Francis. "I'm save noo… Ah mean…Arthur kin butcher mah homeland noo a' he wants. He wull ne'er git tae rule ower me."  
"Oui. I just hope he does not butcher your homeland. Because then you'd be doing nothing else but blood spitting. It's not funny at all."  
"Nae…"

They arrived the French courtyard a few weeks after they had left Perth. Mary, the four Marys and the two half-brothers of Mary were very welcome. Henry II. was a very kind king.  
Alasdair, Francis, Mhairi and Matthieu also found a new home in Paris, or rather, between Paris and Fontainebleau. They were close to a lot of forests and nature, but also could get into the city with no problems.  
Henry II. was a very active king. When he wasn't fighting in the Italian wars or organising the troops there, he was taking part in tournaments or pursuing Protestant people. The protestant, the 'Huguenots' where treated much like witches. Often burnt at a stake or cut off their tongues for spread heresy. Luckily, Nations were spared from this.

Over in Scotland, the battles (Battle of Broughty Castle, Sieges of Haddington) still went on, but rather to the advantage of the Scottish, since they won by the year of 1550.  
During this time Mary Stuart and Francis II. were getting prepared for their role to become the government of France. Mary had to learn a lot of things, such as to play the lute, was competent in prose and poetry, horsemanship, falconry, needlework, and roman languages in addition to speaking her native Scots. She was a very promising girl and everyone at the French court got along with her well.


	27. Chapter 26

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Henry II. had Mary sign secret documents to secure France's position in Europe, as to claim both the Scottish and the English throne, even if Mary Stuart would die without having left children. This was quite a big step, and not really legal in the Scottish laws either.  
Alasdair was mad as he got to know about this.  
"Ye 'n' yer mawkit king …", the redhead said, staring daggers at his 'wife'.  
"Oui, me and my 'mawkit' king. Did you think I was part of this plot. I didn't know until you told me.", Francis retorted, glaring back with his blue eyes.  
"Ah don't ken whit tae think. Bit yer Francis II. Doesn't seem pure determined either. He is paukit 'n' stutters. He won't be a king, bit a king's poodle."  
"I am flattered. But not everyone can be as tall as you.", Alasdair was about 5'9 (1,76 m) by now, while France was 5'5 (1,65 m).  
"Yer suppose tae be wee'er, fur yer mah guidwife 'n' th' wee prince."  
Francis rolled his eyes and blushed.

"Daddy, Papa! Matthieu ate my candys!", Mhairi cried.  
"I did not.", the boy said with a calm voice and looked to the ground.  
"Matthieu, when you want extra candy, we can get you some.", Francis said as he pulled the silent boy closer.  
"And I said, I didn't do it!", New-France shouted. But even when he shouted, he wasn't really loud.  
"If ye didn't dae it. Wha did it?", Alasdair asked.  
"It… it was one of the Mary's. I don't know which one, they're all still new to me. But it was one of them. And they only did it for fun!", Matthieu cried and wanted to run away, but France held his Hands firmly.  
"Hmm… Then, let's ask them. Come on. You are my witness. And I believe you, because you are my son.", Francis said and went away with Matthieu. "Can you tell me where they are right now?"  
"Uuugh… well.. I think they're in the park."  
Alasdair and Mhairi followed the other two.

The park was a garden the people had created over time. It had no specific name or meaning to the upper class. But the Mary's loved to play in there. The four of them (Stuart had classes) were having a little 'tea party' in the midst of it – with Mhairi's Candy.  
"See? I told you, Papa!", Matthieu said if he just found the best evidence in his career of being a detective.  
"Mhm…Bonjour Mesdames. I can see that you are having a very nice little party. May I ask where you got the supplies?", Francis asked, using his most charming tone of voice.  
"Aww, Bonjour Monsieur Bonnefoy. Why don't you join our party? We made it so we would feel ourselves more home in your place. It is so beautiful, yet so different from our home.", one of the Mary's said.  
"Might be… but why do you take my daughter's candy without saying?"  
"Ugh… I am.. /we/ are sorry. We meant to invite her, but she always has to take care of her brother. It's so annoying. We don't want boys here."  
"Matthieu is the nicest little boy you will ever get to meet in your whole life! You made him cry (not really)! And you better apologize to both my children, or I will get really mad."  
"P-please Monsieur Bonnefoy! We didn't mean to make you angry! Of course we could invite both to our party. .. right, Mary?"  
"Yes", the other three Mary's said in unison.  
"After all… we all begin with 'Ma'. Isn't that funny?"  
"Yes.", the three Mary's said again.  
Thus, Mhairi (who was also a Mary in some way) and Matthieu were invited to their Party. From this day on, they would hang out even more together, as long as it was possible – since all of them had a different education.

"Ye did stoatin.", Alasdair said and kissed his lover onto the cheek.  
"Merci. It's the least thing I could do… as your 'wife'.", Francis gave him a smug grin. "By the way.. have you ever seen Paris like this? It's a really huge city. And it's been a while since we came here … when we were the same optical age as Mhairi and Matthieu."  
"Aye. … god, it feels lik' it's bin ages ago."  
"It's centuries ago. .. Oui. .. We were different people back then. But you always were cool."  
Alasdair lit a cigar and took a deep breath through the tobacco leaves, puffing clouds of scented smoke. "Aye, o' coorse. Or else ah micht huv nae bin able tae catch up tae ye. Bit please don't mynd me if ah don't wantae tak' a tour thro' Paris. I'm aye sae. Gey fauchelt... 'n' ah kin cop mah fowk fightin'. Ah git a ill conscience frae thaim fightin' fur thair land 'n' a'm here… daein' hee haw!"  
"You don't do nothing. You have a purpose here also. But you have the right to relax. Relax and enjoy yourself.", Francis said soothingly and fought the temptation to talk his husband into a massage like they had back in Vichy.

"..ugh… can we go do something still? I don't like the idea of them having a party and us being all bored and grown up."  
Alasdair snickered. "You're richt. We … shuid dae something crakin'. Howfur aboot gaun hame 'n' haein a crakin' nap oan th' couch?"  
"That sounds like grandpa activity.", France laughed and gave Alba a nudge.  
"Pff.. okay. .. 'Howfur aboot gaun hame 'n' making oot oan th` couch?", Alba's ears went fiery red.  
"Sure, why not? I'm totally /into/ this.", Francis winked.

Some days further, Alasdair was walking down the hallway in Fontainebleau. He had promised to get Francis from one of the 'boring' meetings with the other Alliance partners.  
Possibly to show off with the 'Auldest' of them all. There had been no need for Alba to show up at this conference since they were married as human beings as well and therefore knew each other pretty well.  
Then suddenly he heard steps from behind. It was the Ottoman Empire.  
"So, you are Scotland…", the tall man begin. He was taller than Alasdair, which the redhead didn't like in first place. But the Scotsman kept his opinion to himself.  
"Aye, sae whit?"  
"Well, I just have been curious to see the one who's got the first place in Paris… in the heart of the French kingdom.", Alasdair could tell that the man in front of him was smiling.  
"Th' foremaist steid?"  
"Don't play stupid. You know what value you have towards Francis Bonnefoy."  
Alasdair blushed and felt uneasy. He didn't like that kind of topic.  
"Just let me get this straight." Sadiq Adnan lowered his head to be on eye-level. "Once you are out of the way, no one in Europe will wait for France to choose someone else. And that will be your second major problem beside your issue with the occupation of the Scottish throne…"  
"Ah ken that!"  
"…And you just got lost. The conference was down this hallway, second door on the left. İyi günler (Have a good day)."

The last round of the Italian wars was running between 1551 and 1559. In this last, but important round, the peace of Cateau-Cambrésis was declared, in which also some points were made out on belongings of places within Europe. A conference was held in Cateau-Cambrési, in the north of France. Present were the Hapsburg forces and the French as well as the English since they had also a major role in this.  
During the last battles in Italy, it had become clear that the French could not win this fight over Italy at all – a thing France wasn't too surprised at all. The Spanish had just been to strong.  
Spain was declared of being the dominant power in the Italy and was 'sentenced' to take care of the Italy brothers – of which he but gave one to Austria, since Austria was Hapsburg as well and the Holy Roman Empire was still too young to take care of one of the Italy brothers.  
Spain still retained Franche-Comté (in eastern France), but France received back the 'three bishoprics' (Metz, Toul and Verdun) in Lorraine and the Pale of Calais from England.  
The pope remained an ally to Spain and the only truly independent states in Italy were the Savoy and the Republic of Venice.  
What was more important, the war that had lasted around 60 years had ended.  
England was the only real looser to the Hapsburg-Valois war. He had lost the last territory on the continent and had his reputation damaged.

The contracts were secured by more marriages: The Duke of Savoy married the sister of Henry II. of France and Philip II. of Spain married the daughter of Henry II..

Sadly, the sun wouldn't always shine on France… just in 1559, a terrible accident happened.  
Henry II. during a tournament, when a sliver from the shattered lance of the captain of the Scottish Guard at the French court, pierced his eye and entered his brain. The man was immediately dead. The Guard was very shocked and begged to be banished or punished in any way. But no such thing happened.  
"…long live the king.", said the French kingdom with a grim face.

Francis II. was now in charge for the political business in the kingdom. But since he still was very young, he wasn't really suited either. He was only 15 years old, but old enough to not need a regency government. It was 2 years since he had been married to Mary Stuart, and she was 2 years older than him. Not only did Francis II. become the king of France, but also the king consort of Scotland.  
The French kingdom but remained nervous, since the young king was of a bad condition. Always pale and easily sick. It was like the kingdom was resting on fragile porcelain. And not only the French kingdom but also the kingdom of Scotland.

Francis' reign was marked by the religious tension within Europe. Francis II. went, like his predecessors, cruel towards Protestantism. Soon, some protestant 'gentlemen' felt motivated to attempt a coup d'etat against the king and his supporters. The king's mother tried to find a dialogue between the followers of this new religion, but Francis II. only went against them harder, in order to achieve respect and authority among his people.

Then there was other voices growing louder. There was other people who claimed the throne. They said that they would descent from another male line from some French king that had ruled a long time ago. One of them being Antoine de Bourbon, king of Navarre. But he failed to impose his views to the Guise at the French court.  
The other illegimate group that was reaching for the power were the people from the House of Guise, being in the favor of the king and using him for their desires.  
In Winter 1559, a magistrate at the paris parlament that had started a controversy by contesting the repression, was publicly executed in Paris, which in turn motivated a smaller group to do a conspiracy in order to get the opposing and still legitame heir of the throne to reign over France – which led to the 'amboise conspiracy'.

The conspirators were planning to take over the royal palace with the help of the guards to abduct the king and to eliminate the Guise if they showed any resistance. The conspirators most likely had secret support from the younger brother of King Antoine of Navarre.  
In February 1560, the royal court had received multiple warnings about the existence of such a conspiracy. Against the threat, the royal council decided to make some promises, that there would be a general amnesty to protestants.  
But it was too late, because the conspirators were already on their way. Yet, poorly organised, the conspiracy ended as a blood bath. Those that had been able to escape, were kept prison for a few days, only to then be freed and ordered to go home.  
Just a bit later, 200 more men tried to storm the castle, but failed. They were mercilessly hanged.

The younger brother to the king of Navarre, Prince of Condé, who was accused to be involved into the assassination attempt had arrived to the court during the events and had helped to defend the castle along with his enemies. It might have turned out that they have been wrong about him, though he would have been benefitting from the attempt.

The outburst of violence during the Amboise conspiracy was just a prove on how persecuting protestants wasn't helpful at all. Under the influence of Catherine de Medici and other council members, the government turned their policy towards being more friendly to the French of any religion. The persecution was stopped and even though it was still prohibited for the Huguenots to come together in larger groups, the religious prisoners were all released by the government. It was more like a compromise.  
The queen-mother further tried to get all Christian to work together, no matter if they were catholic or protestant. But the pope refused and threatened to start another war if they would still make an ecumenical council.  
Yet, more riots and rebellious acts were made by the protestants, despite the monarchy being willed to come closer.

Back in Scotland, uprises were made by the protestants, mostly also because they didn't want to end up being controlled by the French. Especially with Mary who had signed the illegal contracts of France keeping Scotland even with no descendants from Francis II. and Mary. Leaders of the Scottish reformation found support among the English who were very eager to help. In summer 1560, the Scottish parliament had established protestantism as the state religion.  
One of the leader was John Knox, who had been working as a slave on French galleys since he had been captured during one the Scottish-English battles and now possibly was taking revenge. A treaty was made in which the Auld Alliance was now officially ended, along with many other things as Scotland was found to be too old fashioned by alot of Scottish.  
When Francis II. and Mary Stuart received the treaty of Edinburgh, they refused to sign it. Being outraged by it, they challenged the legitimacy of the Scottish parliament decision.

Francis himself was just as outraged as well...  
"What is this shit!? I'll cut off his head and piss into his neck! I hate this John Knox!", the usual calm Frenchman declared, waving angrily around with the piece of paper, partly tearing it apart as well.  
"How come urr ye sae mad? C-cuid you...?", Alasdair tried to fetch the paper. He didn't understand what his wife was so angry about. He had been in the woods all day and didn't know anything about the treaty in his new heart.  
"I'm going to kill him!"  
"Calm doon!"  
"How am I supposed to calm to ... to THIS!", Francis batted the paper into Alasdairs face. "Oooh, I am so MAD!"  
Alasdair raised an eyebrow and watched his wife walking away. Then he took a glance at the paper. ... A treaty of Edinburgh? The end of the Alliance? The redhead's eyes darkened.  
"What can we do?", Francis cried. "Can't we just go there and throw a tantrum? I feel very much to do it and rip some scottish protestants... désolé, Écosse, but I cannot help myself. If it is our divorce what the protestants want, I'd hate all of them, no matter what nationality they have."  
"Stoap this nonsense. We'll huv none o' that. Ah wull gang tae Edinburgh masell 'n' wull see whit ah kin dae. Fur th' time bein' ye huv tae bear wi'oot me. Bit ye kin dae that, richt? You're na wee wean anymair."

It was raining when Alba left for his home. Long time did Francis watch at the door of his house out to his husband, afraid that he might not see him again. The children were standing beside Francis and were crying but not saying anything.

In november 1560, the health of Francis II. began to worsen. He had always been fragile and even during the coronation he had been too weak to actually wear the crown. The infection spread so far into the king's body that he died, just one month lather. With no descendants, his younger brother Charles IX., who was at the age of 10 by then, was then crowned to be king. As Charles was still too young to rule the kingdom, the mother was to rule as the 'France governess'. The Guise left the court, and also the brothers of Navarre that had seeked for the French crown had returned home.  
Also, when the Francis II. had died, France evacuated Scotland, Brazil, Corsica, Tuscany, Savoy and most of Piedmont.  
Just then became clear how important for France it had been that Francis II. had lived.

And as for Mary Stuart, the widow, but still Queen of Scots, she had to return to her home also, being accompanied by Nova Scotia.


	28. Chapter 27

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Alasdair didn't seem to come back and it was only Matthieu and Francis now in Paris. Charlex IX. was still not doing big efforts in politics, but he was now raised more to be a king than ever since his older brother had died. The French court could have foreseen the soon death of Francis II.. He had been always sick after all. But Catherine de Medici was pretty good at her job, despite being a merchant's daughter. The Medici family had been Italian merchants who had somehow managed to buy a title and were housed somewhere in Northern Italy… thus, being culturally advanced and interested and whatnot. However, the 'France governess' had been in the monarchy business for some time and therefore knew. She had also always been working for to calm the protestant down as she knew where this was leading to.

"I miss daddy…", Matthieu said to his Papa as they prepared breakfast. Francis let the boy take over the breakfast bowls and wooden breadboards. It's been half a year and a few weeks now. Francis felt like someone had ripped out his heart.  
"I miss him too.", he was cutting some fresh tomatoes (that had spread in europe since the Spanish had brought them over) and chives. Then he took the bread basket, cold cuts and brought them over to the breakfast table. Breakfast had always been rich in France. It mostly was enough to be full until afternoon. Well, no one would know when a war would break out these days.  
"But I promised him to wait. He said he would manage something… I guess. It's been so long I don't remember it clearly. But I remember to wait for him. Like a test. A million nations may come, but I will wait for him.", Francis smiled in an excusive way.  
"Then we wait both for him.", New France voluntarily offered.  
"That's nice, mon doux fils. …Well.. how about we make a Papa-Fils-Day? A day on which we decide to do something fine and what we will remember long time. Is there something that comes to your mind?"  
Little Matthieu scrunched his face and thought deeply.  
"I want us to play together – Kumajirou, you and me."

The following years, starting with 1562, were filled with inner conflicts for France. It was the religious wars. But more nations were involved too. There was the Protestant portion which consisted of England and Scotland, and the french Huguenots. Then there was the opponents, the Pope with the aid of Spain and Savoy. And the French Government between those two, not really belonging to either. This also reflected into Francis. He felt insecure, he waited for something to happen. Also he felt lost without Alasdair on his side. In fact the Frenchman began to feel really sick without his 'better half'. Or perhaps it was because of his people fighting against his people. The only sunshine in his life was Matthieu. He would also notice that without Alba they would both speak in French only.

As for Alasdair, nothing was heard about him. Neither did the man react to messenger birds of any kind.  
And Mary Stuart.. after she had left France she knew that her life was kind of ruined also. She had loved France for the peaceful and nice time she had on the French court. But now, there was only dark clouds above her head. Besides that, there was still protestant people fighting against catholic in Scotland – much like in France. And John Knox who had brought a large gap between the two nations was still preaching hatred against Mary. She tried to talk sense into him, but he didn't change his opinion.  
There was more men rising up against her and her policies or men who had personal issues of her ruling Scotland. Elizabeth I. of England used the situation to her advantage. Since nothing seemed to work out right, Mary started to look for noblemen across the european continent but couldn't find someone decent enough. The English Queen tried to force some English person onto Mary – which Elisabeth's father, Henry VIII., initially had planned for Mary.

Then there was Henry Stuart – Mary's English-born first cousin whom she briefly met. A few years later, they married, despite them being first cousins. No one said anything against it – besides Elizabeth. The English Queen felt threatened by their marriage as they both had the right to claim the English throne. But Mary insisted that the connection had been love-driven, not calculated.  
Mary's half-brother, the Earl of Moray, was just as unpleased. Being a protestant, he started more campaigns against his half-sister.  
In the meantime, Henry Stuart became bored and also wanted the full power over Scotland for himself. But Mary refused to give him such power. Then, Stuart also became jealous as Mary was spending so much time with her catholic private secretary Rizzio. He accused her that the child she was bearing wasn't his, but the one of Rizzio. He started a secret conspiracy in which he let Rizzio kill in front of her eyes.

In 1566, Mary's son was born. She named him James, just after his grandfather. Also, it was confirmed that it was the son of Henry Stuart – but the act of killing Rizzio had destroyed their relationship. The breakdown of their marriage was inevitable.

A few month's later, Mary was having a journey on horseback of at least four hours to visit the Earl of Bothwell at Hermitage Castle, where he lay ill from wounds sustained in a skirmish with border reivers. Immediately, when she returned, she suffered from a serious illness. Soon she was thought to be very close to dying. Physicians and doctors from nearby were consulted, but couldn't help. Then others were called, but things seemed hopeless. No one knew why she was so badly infected.  
Most of the time she spent in her royal bed – alone, just to not spread the disease.

"'ave you seen 'im?", a french accented voice asked. A cloaked man entered her sleeping room. Mary was half awake and sweating out her sickness. You could see that most of her liveliness had left her. She was very thin, almost looking like a ghost.  
"Who... who are you?", her raspy voice asked in return. Her eyes showed a hint of fear as she was alone and unguarded.  
"'ow could you 'ave forgotten me?", the dark hood revealed the French kingdom.  
"I ... I didn't forget you.", the woman replied with a flat tone in her voice, displaying how weak she was..  
"Hm... 'ave you seen 'im? Écosse.", Francis asked, as if not taking any notice from her state.

"No... I haven't. Hasn't he returned?", she reached out for a cup of water. Francis sat beside her and took the cup of water away.  
"Zat's too bad."  
Mary looked bewildered at the man she had known from her childhood. Francis seemed so heartless right now.  
"You cannot drink zis water. It's ...euh... rotten. Bad water. It will cause you more sickness.", the Frenchman explained. From all the french speaking he had kind of lost his sense for the english language he had spoken so much with Alasdair. As Alasdair had left, there was no use for him to use the language anymore, thus he only spoke french. "Let me 'elp you get 'ealzier."

First of all, France had to discover where fresh and clean water was found. Then he gave some of that to drink to the queen of scots. Then he also made tea and a hot bath with soaps for her. She was still sick after these treatments, but was on the way of recovering as the Frenchman repeated to treat her like this. Always fresh vegetables and meat. Francis would cook the meals seperately for the queen. And also he provided that the windows were open often in her room, despite all the doctors before had said that all of this treatment was bad for the body as it was affecting the natural defense system inside the body. The recovery phase took some time, but Mary was on the best way to regain her health.

"There is no need for all of this blood lose.", Francis explained to the queen. From the time she was feeling better, they would have long talks – often about France, because the queen had missed this land so very much. Francis tried his best in reviving the memory inside her. Right now he was mentioning the thing about european doctors using the method of phlebotomy to treat their patients. A normal person would recover with the help of this. But with someone so close to death it would only worsen everything.  
"I'm so grateful, that you came here. You said.. you were looking for Al... Scotland, right? I am so sorry, but I haven't seen him since I've been here. Since I ... since I left France."  
"That's too bad.", Francis made a sound of disapproval. "It's been 6 years now since I last saw him. He made me promise to wait, but... sincerely, I cannot wait any longer. It's just unbearable! I cannot anymore!"  
The Frenchman wimpered but tried to keep himself from crying. He was reminded of missing Alasdair every morning where he would stroll through his house and not finding a sign of the redhead. But even if there was something... why was there never a message even? Just a little message of that the redhead was okay. That he was feeling well. Or even bad. Just to know that Alasdair still existed!

"Don't be sad. I am sure he is out there somewhere. ...Aren't you nations based on the beliefs of at least one person? Like... one man or woman beliefs that he or she is a French person, thus you exist. Same goes with Scotland. And now, Scotland still has a Queen. Me. That should be a guarantee that he is still there.", Mary explained. She was sitting in a chair close by the window and was enjoying the warm wind of the fading autumn.  
"Y-you might be right...", Francis had to admit. He never thought of it this way. It made him being more optimistic. Still, he wanted to see Alasdair. 6 years was a very long time. Maybe not for a nation, but for a heart. "But I have seen Nova Scotia. She stayed at your court here all the time, right? I left Matthieu with her. They're so glad to see each other again."  
"Yes. Mhairi was very sweet to me here all the time. We're not phisically the same age, but she is still a great friend to me. She likes to take care of my little boy."  
"Oh yea, you got a son just recently. Congratulations. I'm sure he'll grow strong and good. He'll be the king of both Scotland and England, right?"  
"Yes. I try all I can that he is a kind king. There is no reason to plant more hatred into the hearts of the English and the Scottish. They should live in harmony together, instead of fighting."

The blonde remained around the Queen of Scots for the next months, along with his children. Mary had several people looking for Alasdair. At some point, Francis believed that the redhead might be in the hands of Arthur again. But for such a long time? What for? It all made no sense. And then, what if the redhead had returned to France? Well, in that case, he would get to know early enough. Francis also began to send out a range of white doves who served him as messenger birds. He used around 15 of them now.

During winter, the king of Scots was sickening, but still journeying towards Glasgow to his father's estates. In the new year, Mary wanted him back. He recuperated from his illness in a house at the former abbey of Kirk o' Field, just within the city wall. The queen visited him daily, which made the French kingdom think about what might be when Scotland was sick and needed him. Worry made him almost just as sick. He had from one of his 'Pierres' confirmed, that Alasdair was nowhere around London, so not being hostage to Arthur. Then Francis decided to travel across the highlands. He learned Scots and some gaelic from books, just as he heard from an explosion at the Kirk o' Field.  
The king of the scots was found dead in the garden, appearantly smothered, yet there was no sign of violence.  
Soon a scapegoat was found. By the end of february, Bothwell was generally believed to be the murderer of Darnley.

But Francis didn't get to know more about this case. He didn't care for Mary's husband all that much. He had a talk with Mhairi and Matthieu, wether they were okay or not, that Francis would travel across the highlands to eventually find the missing husband and father. The children agreed and thus made the 'messenger centre', receiving the Pierre's of Francis, but also sending some back, reporting on the situation on the French – and maybe also the Scottish court. Furthermore, they were to send out Pierre's in England and France to search for Alasdair and inform Francis in case they found him.

"A'm leeking fer muh .. fer Alasdair.", Francis muttered as he rode lonely through the majestic mountains of the highlands. He had never been this many north alone. He had been to Loch Ness before, but Alasdair was with him back then. "Darn, I'll never sound scot enough... They'll massacrate me."  
The blonde didn't know what the Clans of the highlands had in mind. But he had to act like being one of them, he knew. "And I'll need a scottish sounding name.", he had to smile upon this. He looked at the pages of a book on Scots which he had lend by Mary of the Scots. It wasn't the only book he had taken with him, but this one showed scottish names. 'Boyd' seemed attractive, as it was the name usually for a blonde man. That should help... and a last name? He could just take his husbands name – McKirkland.  
"And A' guess A'll juist put 'im as me brathair.. .. oh god, this sounds terrible.", Francis laughed at his own misery, and hoped to find Alasdair soon.

One of the first clans he ran into were the Frasers. They quite a large village with a castle in the middle up in the mountains. Francis didn't know anything about Clans at all. Alasdair had always emphasized on how dangerous it was to meet them. Well.. now he wasn't there to keep Francis from talking to them.  
The 'citizens of Fraser village' just acted like normal. They stared at him as he entered the village, but didn't do anything to drive him out either. Who would fear a girly looking young man anyway?  
Now, where to go first? The french feet lead him towards the small chapel that looked like it was going to fall apart anytime. Weather had worn the stone blocks out, but had decorated the building with nice green stuff, possibly moss, here and there. But inside, the church was built up, just like normal. There was statues of saints, candles, benches, an altar and a cross for every visitor visible. What the Frenchman noticed was that the word 'Fraser' resembled the french word for strawberry: Fraise. So wouldn't it be fine if they liked the French?

After a while he went outside again, with more people staring at him. And some followed him where he went also. Alot of them were red headed, but moreover the carrot coloured red, unlike Alasdair with his deep cherry red haircolour. Now what to do? This wasn't going anywhere. Francis frowned. He felt like an alien in an alien place. Should he be randomly talking to one of them?  
Suddenly, a group of young men stood in front of him.  
By instinct, he wanted to wave a nice and flirty 'bonjour' at them, but could stop himself from doing so in the last second. Whoops, that almost went wrong. What did Alasdair say? Moarn? Okay, he'd try that.  
"M-moarn..."  
The men laughed at him. "Hullo, lass."  
"A'm not a lass. A'm a lad.", Francis frowned – and wondered if they'd accept him as a fake-scottish.  
"Bit ye huv gey lang locks fur sic a laddie. You're nae frae 'ere. Whit dae yi'll waant?"

This was going well. He didn't have to take a detour to say what he wants.  
"A'm lookin' fer ma brother. He is very tall and dark red hair...", Francis said.  
"Here's alot o' fowk wi' 'tall 'n' rid hair'. Best ye blether wi' oor Clan chief – or his brother, if ye cannae hauld yer horses.", one of the young men said.  
"Hmm... Can you lead me to the brother of the Clan chief?"

Francis would never understand, what Alasdair's prejudice were when it came to Clan people. They were all so nice.  
The brother of the Clan chief was housed in a normal house. Francis was led into there, despite being a stranger. The wife of the brother was just serving the dinner and a dozen of children. It was impossible that these were all the children of just two people!  
"Moarn, Sur...", Francis bowed a little.  
"Calum Fraser. Juist ca' me Calum. Maist o' th' fowk 'ere ur Frasers anyway. 'n' yer...?"  
"A'm Boyd McKirkland. Ah come frae th' sooth..."  
"Ah ne'er heard o' th' McKirklands.", the redheaded man frowned.  
"Th' McKirklands is juist a very wee Clan. Really wee.", Francis returned the frown and hoped that the man believed him. "A came here tae look fer ma older brother... Alasdair."  
"Whaur huv ye lest seen him? 'n' how come dae ye hawp tae fin' him 'ere?"  
"ugh.. weel. Ah huv seen him lest…In France. In Paris.", Francis felt terrible for butchering the names of his own place. "Ah haven't seen him noo fur 6 lang years. Noo ah can't hauld yer horses ony langer. A'm worried 'n' wantae soucht him. A' o' th' Hielands if ah huv tae."

Calum sighed. He was in his 40s and therefore pretty old for a highland scotsman. "Yer a braw wee brother.", he smiled. "Whit does Alasdair keek lik'?"  
"He is gey lanky…Lik' this. 'n' haes cherry rid locks. Uh...He is lik' 19 year auld 'n' smokes. Ah dinnae ken whaur he gets his cigars, sae ah don't ken if he keeps daein' that."  
Calum thought for a moment. "That means, he bolted wi' age 13?"  
"Ugh... w-weel... he haes aye bin gey determined. Stubborn gowk... ", Francis muttered. He spoke very slow when talking in scots, almost as if thinking through every single word. "Noo, I don't expect ye tae fin' him, 'til ah lea. Th' plan is that ye keep edgy fur him in th' meantime. Ah huv messenger birds that kin keep th' connection frae 'ere tae whaur A wull be."  
"That soonds lik' a guid plan. Yer an' a' gey determined tae fin' him, aye? ah bet ye wull.", Calum put up a fatherly grin.

After a night under the roof of Calum Fraser, Francis continued his ride through the highlands. He followed a trail on the map he had taken from Edinburgh. The trail was based upon his own thoughts, where he assumed Alasdair might be hiding. There had been this issue, that he thought he was able to fix the Alliance. ... There was never a note that John Knox and his protestant had ever taken back the treaty of Edinburgh in which it was said that the Auld Alliance was finished. So... Perhaps, Alasdair had fled because he felt guilty fot not being able to fix the Alliance, their marriage.  
Why did it all have to be complicated? Couldn't he just have been returning? The redhead was more important than the very Alliance. To Francis at least.

The weather across the scottish highlands was very rough. The frenchman had to put up his hood most of the time. Eventually he met people on which he tried to tell to look out for Alasdair, in case he might pass by. But the more north he came, the less his language helped him. It seemed that in the north, gaelic was more often used and that the language was just 'far away from english' in their evolution. But this wasn't stopping Francis from looking for his 'brother', his husband. He made a drawing of the redhead from his memories to show everyone.  
And even after doing a few turns within the lands, there was no way in finding him. Just the islands in the north were left. Orkney and Shetland. After hesitating for a while, Francis set foot onto them also.

In the meantime in Edinburgh, Mary was married to Lord Bothwell, a protestant, who had been told that he had been the murderer of Henry Stuart. Yet somehow he had managed to get a hold of the queen. He was more the dominate kind, but he was still the king consort instead of king regnant. Mary became despondent and sad, so Mhairi and Matthieu reported to Francis.  
A fight was created between Scottish peers and the ruling couple. Bothwell got well away with his troops, while Mary was taken prisoner and was accused adulteress and murderer. For her it was like falling from very up high, to as deep as hell might be. She miscarried twins in prison, and soon also had to abdicate in favour of her one-year-old son James. Moray (James Stewart, 1st Earl of Moray, illegitame half-brother to the queen.) was made regent, while Bothwell went to exile to Denmark.  
Around the same time in France, the religious wars were still on and didn't seem to have an end. Morever, went over to round 2.


	29. Chapter 28

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

As history continued, Francis set foot on the Island of Orkney. He was surprised to find that people lived there. But hadn't one of the letters delivered by Pierre said, that this new guy Mary Stuart was married to, was the Duke of Orkney? Or had been. Things like those didn't seem to matter in this far-off place. Long time it had been Nordic islands, belonging to the passive, third member of the Auld Alliance – Norway. The ex-viking had never cared much for the other too. But Alasdair and Francis have never minded him being absent. They were just enjoying their own little world of affection.  
In 1468, Orkney was pledged by Christian I. of Norway, as a payment of the dowry of his daughter Margaret, betrothed to James III of Scotland.

Despite it being summer, it was bitterly cold in Orkney. But Francis had long gone over to wear more layers to protect him from the cold. There was no snow, just tall grass, unlike he had expected. Oh yeah, and people living here in poor houses. That's at least what the domesticated Frenchman would have said. Their houses were made from the wood of the few trees that grew here, but also some were made from stone, just smaller pebbles that were made so that not even wind would flow through the stonework.

Again, Francis showed the drawing of Alasdair around the village. And one person, a young woman, chattered exaggerated to Francis and made the impression that she knew where Alasdair was. First, France thought, she was mad. After all this time (another year had passed by), he hadn't found the redhead. Why should it be so easy now?  
But he followed her. They went through tall grass, jumped over dangerous rivers … and finally came to more grassy fields in which a smaller house stood. The house was much more like an igloo made from wood, leaves and some stones. Really just the material that you would find here. Plus, the architecture was clearly celtic. Around the single lonely house was a small herd of sheep.  
The Maid stood there and looked at Francis expectantly. The Frenchman looked back and she nodded towards the house.

The blonde hesitated.  
What had he expected to find?  
He remembered how he was crying during the nights. That he was literally fighting his loneliness, despite that Matthieu was still with him. And some people from the court in Fontainebleau. And now this…  
What if Alasdair didn't want him anymore? Well… this was the moment to find out.  
The blonde licked his lips. The air here was pretty dry. Must be the summer on Orkney.  
Finally, he made the steps towards the house. He felt as if in a dream. But before he reached the house, a figure came out of it. A very tall person. Francis was paralyzed as he stared at Alasdair.

"Francis…", came a faint start.  
"…Écosse! What the hell are you doing here?", asked Francis and tilted his head. Anger was certainly the emotion that filled him.  
"A.. Ah am .. Ah din ken.", Alasdair stared to the ground. "Ah din ken."  
"What are you doing out here? Don't tell me these are /your/ sheep!", in no time he was at the redhead and glared fiercely into the green eyes.  
"Ugh… A-aye they are… Mmh.. Keek, a'm sorry, Francis! I'm sae sorry. Ah wanted tae come back tae ye. Bit ah couldn't! Ah juist couldnae keek ye intae th' een efter whit happened. 'n' a'm aye mixter maxter. Ah mean… wur nae merrit anymair, ur we? ah din ken whit tae dae!"  
Francis sighed exaggeratedly. "Just why? Why did I have to come here all the way? Seven fucking years have passed since I last saw you! Did you ever think how worried I was? And your children! They talk to me all day on how they miss you! Did you think they care for if you are their father by blood, or if you are married to me or not? You have a responsibility!"  
"A'm sorry…"  
"What am I going to do with you?", Francis growled. He was unsure wether to just abandon him here or to force him to come with him. "…Hmm. Let me think. What happened actually back then? What did you do?"

"Aye... hm… Ah gaed tae this John Knox.", Alasdair tried his best to remember what he had done 7 years ago as he lit a cigar to calm down. "Then we hud some kind o' conference in Auld Reekie. Ah tried tae blether thaim intae goin awa th' Alliance, 'n' that th' Auld Alliance wid be reformed as weel. Bit thay wur a' against it. Instead o' bein' an Alliance juist against Englain, it cuid be an Alliance o' trade 'n' juist protecting against a'body, whin it's needed. Lik' ye helped me in th' Siege o' street. Andrew's Castle. Or ah helped ye whin in th' 100 years war. 'n' then thare wis aye this renewing o' th' Auld Alliance. How come? we wur th'gither a' th' time… Bit aye did this John Knox outsmart me wi' his constant blabbering! he wis stowed oot o' hate fur ye. Ah…Ah wis sae goosed afterwards. Ah loved ye sae much… 'n' noo it's sae late."

"What you really needed was a lawyer. I have done research on John Knox. He is some kind of clerical man and therefore well educated. But still no reason for you to not show up again after you failed. So what? It is not only your alliance. You're such an idiot."

Alasdair was still unsure if Francis and the children would welcome him. And if their life would be just as normal like before. Before, they could always say that they were nations and had an alliance and therefore could be together. But at these times, gay marriages were highly prohibited. In fact it was only because of their Auld Alliance that there had been no attempt of them being killed or at least treated very bad, that they were close to death.  
And now, not even Protestants tolerated this kind of relationship between two human beings.

"Come on!", Francis shook the older one. "We will find a way. Together. I'll just have to wait a bit. I send like a billion Pierre's just to find you! I walked all over Scotland and asked everyone and anyone."  
"Ye did whit?", Alasdair just snapped out of his melancholy for once and hadn't listen to the younger one. "Did ye … ask th' Clans?"  
"Aye.. Ah did it in a Scottish disguise.", Francis winked.  
"Th-That wis mad rocket! ah tellt ye nae tae blether tae thaim! whit if thay hud murdered ye? Especially wi' th' Clan wars gaun oan richt noo. Whit wur ye thinking?"  
"I was thinking that it was the only way of getting to you. I named myself McKirkland. And I had a map of the Clans – there was no 'McKirkland' on the map, so I thought I'd be just fine."  
"...It seems ah pure am an eejit. Bit how come did ye dae a' o' this?"  
"Because I love you, eejit...", after a slight pause, he pulled the taller one into a hug and kissed him.

Alasdair showed Francis around... what he had done the past 6 years. First of all, he had been traveling around on his own. Lost in thoughts and unsure of what to do. Eventually, he found a home on the Orkney main isle. Then he had build up this 'forest-igloo' all by himself. By the time he had also made bowls and tools himself – except for a knife with which he had carved it all.  
And then the sheep. It was a group of 8 healthy sheep of which some were still young lambs.  
"They're so cute...", Francis muttered. Then one of his Pierre's came. The one that informed him about news from England and France. He wrote back that he had found Alasdair and that they could stop sending him birds.  
"Howfur ur th' bairns? did ah git that juist richt that thay sent ye Pierre?"  
"Oui. Before I went, I talked long time with them and they wanted you back as well. They agreed that they would lead the central of the Pierre messenger birds. After a while, they became more birds... well, we have two really cool children. They're cute, brave and smart. I expect you to come back with me and care for them again like you used to."  
"I will..."

The trip back to Edinburgh took another few months, and they were to share the horse Francis had come with. When they came back, the Queen of Scots was in the hands of the English, because she was guilty for murdering her second husband. Mary had tried to ask Elizabeth of England for help, but the english queen had used this as an opportunity to get hold of the rival.  
Mhairi and Matthieu were very excited to see their daddy again and clung to the redhead man for more than half an hour.  
"It seems that alot of things have changed while I was gone.", Francis frowned.  
"'n' even mair sae, sin ah wis gaen. This is pure tairible. Bit ah hawp, Seumas VI. Is a'richt."  
"Oh, he is. And he just learned how to walk. He is such a cute baby!", Mhairi squealed. "come on, I'll show him to you!"

The baby king was with his nurses in the gardens of the castle, enjoying the winter and the thick freshly fallen snow. Alasdair took him in his arms.  
"Sae, yer mah freish king. Nice tae mak yer acquaintance. Ah hawp we wirk weel th'gither."  
Francis laughed. "He is only a baby. He will not understand you."  
But the king reached out in an attempt to grab the big hand of his nation. It was like a handshake. "Aye, he does."  
"Mmh... so adorable. Both of you. Now, I'll leave you here. I have some business to prepare."  
"Pure, Francis?", Alba looked hurt.  
"Oui. You still have Mhairi and Matthieu here. We'll meet each other in the evening for Dinner."

"So, where have you been all the time, daddy?", Mhairi asked, to start a conversation, as they took a walk through the snow.  
"Ah huv bin in th' north. Yin o' th' isles, Norway gave back tae me some time ago. It's nae sae taps aff thare. I'm aye pure sorry that ah didn't come back. Bit 'twas said that oor fowk hud tae split up. Ye ken that yer Papa 'n' ah huv an alliance, instead o' a real mairriage. 'n' thay said that this alliance wis ower."  
The redhead girl nodded in understandment. Matthieu just listened.  
"Ah tried tae rammy fur oor fowk. Bit 'twas in vain. Ah lost. Mmmh. Bit Awright. Ye grew, wee lassie."  
"I did? Ugh... I mean.. I didn't notice.", Mhairi blushed. She had the size of a girl at the age of 10, while Matthieu still looked fourish. "Soon enough I will be an adult, just like Papa and you."  
"Ah hawp nae. Ah lik' ye as yer noo."  
Little James VI. liked being carried around by his nation.

A few days later, John Knox mysteriously disappeared, and another conference was held on the topic of the Auld Alliance. This time, the reformation went smoothly. France and Scotland were still Alliance partners, the alliance didn't need a renewal as it was one lasting forever. Furthermore, trading was fee-less between the two. The alliance was no longer just against England, but against everyone who would bring the other nation into a critical situation. Francis and Alasdair were married both as humans and as nation. But they had to do without a real wedding ceremony.

But not everyone had a reason to celebrate. Scotland and France were experiencing political problems still. But Francis still didn't care, as the religious wars in his land confused him.  
Alasdair in the meantime wanted to save Mary of Scots. She was not really needed anymore, since James VI. would be with no trouble king over both Scotland and England. But still had the nation some attachment to Mary. Maybe just like Francis had to Jeanne.  
"Do you want to do it alone again, my silly husband?", Francis raised an eyebrow as he stood beside the redhead, both on their horses on the border to England.  
"... Nae.", Alasdair smirked and looked away. "Ah wis waiting fur ye."

In the conference, or commission of inquiry between october 1568 and January 1569, Mary refused to give up on her power. Furthermore it was about to clearify wether or not she was the murderer of Henry Stewart – the cousin she had as her second husband. There was letters, written in poor grammar and language. But the style the letters were written in, were hers.  
Mary said that she hadn't killed her husband and that she hadn't written these letters. But the critic were unforgiving.  
But in the end, no one was declared guilty or not guilty. The regent of Scotland, Moray, was sent back home, while Mary remained in custody. Elizabeth of England remarked, that she had no intention in accusing Mary for murder, but it was all just a political exercise.

"She was playing with her like a cat with some ball of wool. What kind of woman is that Elizabeth? She never had to fear anything. And then again she is an illegitime daughter to Henry VIII.. Why the hell is she queen anyway?", Francis asked. He was getting angry easily to such nonsense.  
"It seems lik' na yin pat rocks intae her path.", Alasdair said as they were sitting in a pub. An Irish pub in London ironically. "We shuid huv uggit Englain mair instead o' fleeing tae ye."  
"Oui. But now it's too late. Do you have a plan on how we could get Mary out of her prison?"  
"Nae exactly. Whin we dae it lik' we did wi' Jeanne, it's gaun tae be tairible."  
"Agreed."

They were about to fetch Mary from one of the places she was held. That was easier said than done, as she got moved around alot of castles. The two nations couldn't exactly find a hole into the system. Even more so as Mary was always surrounded by at least 16 people. So abducting her was no option. It was crazy. She was better guarded than the crown jewels of the queen of England!

Early in 1571, Moray was assassinated, and then succeeded by the Earl of Lennox as the regent of Scotland. It was coincided with a rebellion in the northern England, led by catholic earls, which wanted to convince that Mary was a threat. Then there was other groups who tried to free Mary also. The Duke of Norfolk with the help of Spanish troops. Norfolk was executed. At the same time, the English parliament introduced a bill that would make sure that Mary would under no circumstances regain the throne – but Elizabeth refused to give her okay to it. Possibly, this was another display of how powerful she was. Yet in turn, the false letters of Mary were published throughout London.  
Later on, Mary was moved to different castles again.


	30. Chapter 29

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The religious wars over in France raged with no end in sight. But Charles IX. had changed over the years. He was in his 20s and looked at all the battles. The men fighting around him. He woke up like from a dream after he had travelled across France and looked only at the beautiful things. He shouted at his servants and was accusing his mother to be responsible for all this violence. He was not really to blame as he was also sick and would soon die. Charles knew that and the same day as he died he called out to Henry of Navarre, the son of Antoine of Navarre, and told him that he had always loved him and trusted his wife and son to him. Charles IX. left behind a daughter and an illegitimate son.  
His brother Henry de Valois who was meant to succeed Charles, had just recently been elected as the king of Poland and therefore wasn't there. Ironically, Henry of Navarre (Henry de Bourbon) was also entitled to be king of France, since he was a prince du sang (blood prince) and therefore connected to the French royal family.

But Catherin de Medici was eager to have one of her sons ruling over France. She put herself as Queen regent, until Henry de Valois would return from Poland.  
She sent a letter to France, as the nation had to be always present actually, when a new king was crowned. It was a sign of acceptance and a tradition. In Alasdairs case, he had accepted James VI. after he had re-appeared. Francis however, didn't stay longer than he had to, as he was still more worried about Scotland's composure.

The coronation found place in the cathedral of Reims in February 1575. One day later, Henry III. was married to Louise de Lorraine.  
Henry was also still involved in the religious wars within France. He signed an edict that would grant the Huguenots a lot of concessions. The Duke of Guise wasn't too pleased and raised a catholic league. Confronted with this threat, the king revoked the edict.  
The next step was also a result of the pressure of the Duke of Guise. He forced the king to put an edict against Protestantism and to annul the right of Henry de Bourbon's right on the throne of France.  
The following years, both would have to fight for their place in the world. Henry of Navarre for the French throne that his supporters wanted for him, and Henry de Valois against his sister and possessive mother.

Some years later in 1586, Mary of Scots was arrested, after being tricked. Walsingham had said that her letters were safe with him, when in truth he used them to plot something against her. Walsingham figured that the letters held the information that Mary planned to kill Elizabeth of England. Being still in the hands of the English she was treated much more like a citizen of England than a foreign queen. And a citizen would never plan to kill the own queen. Therefore she had to be punished.  
Elizabeth herself wasn't quite for the execution that was sentenced upon Mary, and even asked if it had to be, that they could find a more mild way to do it. The request was denied and furthermore, the privy council of England proceeded with the formalities of the execution without the queen's agreement and knowledge.

In february 1587, Mary was to be executed.  
"Do you still want to safe her? We traveled around her all the time. It seems much like with Jeanne... with the only option to take her when she walks from the prison to the scaffold.", Francis put on a sour face. When he blanked out the details of Jeanne's burning, he could afford to remember the incident at all. As for now, he was rather the opinion that Alasdair should leave it be to try to safe his queen. He felt bad for the whole situation, but it had no use.  
"We shuid uise that option. Weel. Shuid. . Th' major kinch is that thare is na wey o' us getting thro'. Th' guards ur wey better armed than th' guys back then. This is ridiculous!"  
"We could also make an effort... I know. We could try and shoot her before she gets touched by the executioner. Th-"  
"'n' whit's this gaun tae hulp? th' result is th' same!"  
"It's not.", Francis raised his eyebrows. "The English whoever decided this will lose the 'pride' in taking her life. And she will be dead more soon, before there is any trouble. Like.. Jeanne didn't die immediately, but very slow. That was inhuman."  
"Ah see. ...From this point o' sicht, it even mak's sense.", Alasdair sighed – and had to agree.

The next problem was how to get there. The execution was in the great hall. And thus being called great hall, it was rather small when thinking of what had to fit in there during the time of the execution. Alot of commoners weren't there anyway. And then, they'd had to flee after they shot Mary. The plan seemed to be very troublesome. Francis had imagined the whole scenery to be different.

The scaffold stood in the middle of the great hall, was two feet high and draped in black. It was reached by two or three steps and furnished with the block and a cushion for Mary to kneel on. Then there was stools for her and the witnesses.  
Mary seemed calm and focused, like she was having a walk in the park, as she appeared. She left her outer garments to her servants and smiled, as she revealed simple but symbolic clothes she had decided to wear on the day of her death. Then she was blindfolded with a white veil embroidered in gold, and knelt down on the cushion in front of the block. Her last words were "Into thy hands, o lord, I commend my spirit".

There was no use in shooting her before she was executed. It took two blows with an axe to severe the neck, the first blow already narcotizing her. As the executioner held her head aloft and declared 'god save the queen', the head dropped down, revealing that Mary had worn a wig – and in truth had short grey hair. A small skye terrier revealed itself from beneath Mary's skirts and refused to be parted from it's owner. It was covered in her blood as it was forcingly taken away.  
Everything that had been touched by Mary was burned to obstruct relic-hunters.  
One of Mary's last wishes was to be buried in French soil, but was never realised.

Alasdair was crying slightly as they walked home from the execution. He tried his best to cover his tears, but failed. Francis held his hand tightly and didn't dare to say a word.

Elizabeth was furious when she got to know that Mary had been executed without her will. She threw Davidson, the major responsible for disobeying, into the tower of london.

James VI. hadn't been lazy the past years between his mother's absence and her actual death. He had grown to a handsome and determined young man. He had shown what kind of a king he was through various places in Scotland. Showed them that they could surely count him in.  
It was also obvious that he would become Elizabeth's successor. The English queen was still insecure, but during the 'spanish armada crisis' in 1588 in which the English fleet sunk the hapsburg (castile, portugal and naples) armada, James assured her to act as her 'natural son and compatriot to her country'.

As James was 21 years old by now, it was also urgent that he'd have a wife to actually get some children that could take over the scottish (and maybe the english) throne some day. They spend days with portraits in the Edinburgh castle and tried to find the best from all candidates.  
"Do I really have to chose one of these...?", James asked lazily. He was an active king but didn't like that all of his life had to be planned. Even into the last detail. Rather wanted he to go to some war or go hunting.  
"Aye, ye huv tae.", Alasdair said, looking strictly at him like he was his son. In fact they had built up such a relationship over the years. Both were really fond of each other. "Whit aboot... Anne of Denmark?"  
"Denmark?", James took the little portrait from his nations hands. That girl looked nordic of course. Blond and blue-eyed. The king thought about it for a while.  
"She looks cute. And Denmark is no viking anymore.", Francis interrupted scotland's and his king's thoughts as he entered their room. "They speak danish and german over there. Pretty similar to english. If you want, I can teach you some german, so you can appeal to her."

The two men looked at him with a hint of anger or unwill.  
"Quoi? Why don't you give her a chance? Besides, she is not hapsburg, nor is she either French or English.", France retreated from the room. He had a big stack of mail from his land anyway. Alot of paperwork to do.  
"He micht be richt."

A proxy marriage was held in Copenhagen in August 1589. Then Anne was to sail to Scotland, but was forced by storms to the coast of Norway. Upon hearing about the accident, James hurriedly sailed from Leith to get his wife personally.

At the same time in France, Henry de Valois was stabbed by a young fanatical dominican friar, wo had claimed to have secret messages for the king. The friar was killed at the spot, but it was too late for the king of France. The wound didn't seem fatale, but Henry said to the soldiers around him that he wanted Henry of Navarre as the king following him on the throne. Catherine de Medici couldn't say anything, as she had died half a year ago. The day after the assassination Henry III., the last heir of the House Valois, died.

Though Henry of Navarre was now nominally the king of France, the catholic league, along with help from spain forced him to the south. The nominal king had to fight his way to the crown by military conquest, aided by money and troops sent by Elizabeth of England. Henry's catholic uncle was proclaimed king of France by the league... the only problem was, that the uncle, a cardinal, was also Henry's prisoner. Henry de Bourbon was victorious on his way to Paris, but failed to take the capital in 1590.

Around the same time, James VI. of Scotland got formally married to his Anne in Oslo, the capital to Norway. The Scottish king had fallen in love by the time when he had first seen her. After stays at Helsingør and Copenhagen they would return to Scotland.  
"So, you saved her.", a tall blonde happily said as he saw James VI. with the danish princess.  
"Yes. ... who are you?"  
"I'm the kingdom of Denmark.", the tall man grinned. "Matthias Vintersen."  
"Then you're lik' us.", Alasdair said as he stepped to the men. He was just as tall as the nordic nation. "A'm Scotland."  
"Us? Did you bring Norge?", the Dane asked excitingly.  
"Nae.", Alasdair looked to where Francis entered the room. "He is France."  
"Ooh...Still too bad. I guess Norge just doesn't like me. This is annoying.", Denmark smiled still.

"Hallo. Dänemark", Francis greeted and looked at Denmark. The smile reminded him of someone. Wasn't it Spain who would also always smile and be cheerful like that?  
"Oh, du sprichst deutsch? (Do you speak german?)", Matthias asked.  
"Ja, ein bisschen. (yes, a little bit.)"  
They spent some time little conversation in german. But then Francis had to leave.

"I'm sorry, Alasdair, but I have to look after my own country. It seems that my new king can't find the way to my heart."  
Denmark giggled. "And you think you could show him the way? What a silly expression."  
"Oui, well, I'd call the capitals our hearts. ...Henry IV. didn't make it to Paris, so you understand? What good is a nation with no king, am I right?"  
"Aye."  
"I think so too. Do you need help with that?"  
"Non...I got unexpected help... from Angleterre. England. He said he would help with money and stuff."  
"Ah dinnae expect him tae dae sae. Whit's he aiming at?", Alasdair frowned. "He said he wid huv troubles wi' settling in th' freish world. An' a', he cannae fin' th' blonde wean anymair."  
"Uh, I guess that… because Henry of Navarre is protestant, that England's queen wants to help. Wouldn't it be nice that all of us became protestant in the same century?", Francis figured. Denmark was protestant as well.  
"Hmm… mibbie. Bit ah dinnae care if you're protestant or left footer. Even if a'm protestant noo, ah dinnae ken th' point in this religion at a'."  
"You should change that. As a nation you should pay attention to what your people do.", Denmark recommended.  
They spent the rest of the evening talking about witches and what were the best ways to find out if a woman or man is a witch…

Thus, Francis traveled to Paris as Alasdair and the newly-wed went back to Edinburgh.  
One of the first changes that Francis noticed was that Fontainebleau was no longer the residence for the king and his belongings (living or dead belongings) and that the court had moved over to the Tuileries, of which the Louvre was part of.  
After moving in on the new palace, Francis went over to where Henry's troops had their camp as they tried to enter Paris.

It was night as he arrived in Henry's tent.  
"My, what a beautiful girl.", Henry said.  
"How dare you call your own nation a girl…", Francis glared. He knew he looked girly with his ponytail, and that his features were soft. But still he was proud to be male. "I'm the kingdom of France. You should bow to me."  
"A nation that is personified? I didn't know they exist…"  
"Well, now you do. And bow down before me, if you want to become my king."  
Henry obeyed. He had dark hair with matching, smart eyes. He looked cunning and healthy. Good assets to be a king. Yet, Henry looked like he was still not believing Francis to be a guy.  
"You want to enter Paris, right? It is my heart. You cannot fool it. You have to become catholic to enter it. The French don't like protestant kings that ally with the most hated enemy. Do you have any idea what the English did long before you were born? Not all French know it, but the collective memory – my memory – cannot forget the day the English had tried to take over France. They would take everything we hold dear for over 100 years. Furthermore they wanted to take our dearest allies: the Scottish. There is no point in forgiving them. A religion isn't as important as the message you deliver with it."

A few days later, Henry changed his religion to Catholicism and permanently abandoned Protestantism. The Huguenots and his former ally, Elizabeth of England were very angry upon this.  
But for Henry it was no problem anymore, to claim Paris and become the king of France. Yet, in spite of that he had become a catholic king, he promised that he would be the king of all French people and that he would care more that they all have enough to eat than what they believed in. A concept, that was greatly accepted in France. Yes, the new king would be a very good one.

The Renaissance was at its peak. While in Italy and France, the Time of the old Romans and Greeks with all their great art and culture was revived, in England Theatre-play with Shakespeare opened a whole new thinking. And though most English people denied that their time got inspired by the French, it was so that they spied a lot on the French culture, as its delight and filigree was charming.  
"hé bien, Angleterre, have you finally found our little run-away?", Francis grinned. When James of Scotland became the king of England as well, he found it safer to travel to London to visit Arthur. But he didn't know the relationship between James VI. / I. (6th of Scotland, 1st of England) and Arthur…  
"I have found him. He called me big brother, and I am about to settle people on there. It's just not easy with all the natives over there.", Arthur replied. "I named him Alfred Kirkland."  
Seeing Arthur made Francis think of how the English kings and queens still had the French lilies in their coat-of-arms. He remembered what a tantrum Elizabeth I. had thrown as Mary had used the English lion in her coat-of-arms. James was doing it too. He would need to talk to him…

"Moarn! Sorry, Ah wis late…", Alasdair huffed, as he arrived. It seemed that he had been running all the way from Edinburgh to London.  
"You're not that late.", Arthur was annoyed that he couldn't be alone that much with Francis anymore.  
Francis gave his husband a welcoming kiss. "How are the children?"  
"They're weel entertained… thair nurse is peepin' a plooter thaim."  
"Dia duit, everyone!", Ireland said as he joined the three. Ireland was annexed by England long time ago. In the 12th century the english kings had claimed themselves as the 'lords of ireland', until Henry VIII. had changed the title to 'king of ireland'. Therefore, James I. was king over Scotland, England and Ireland... and last but no least over Wales. Wales had long been claimed by England. Naming their crown princes 'prince of wales' was one of the depictations that the English owned Wales.  
"So I am the last?", a female voice asked. It was beautiful blonde maid. She had forest green eyes and an energetic appearance. Yet, she looked like England with longer hair and without the thick eyebrows. It was the personification of Wales and her human name was Gwynn Kyrkland.

Together they went to one of Shakespeare's latest works in the globe theatre. For Francis it was really enjoyable to have all of the 'british isle siblings' together. That James could control all of them was reflected in their personality. The Frenchman remembered the time of when they would quarrel a lot. But nowadays they could behave themselves. Or maybe he just didn't get to know when they would fight.


	31. Chapter 30

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Francis enjoyed the time he spent the last few years apart from Scotland and their children. He had to do things on his own. The whole United Kingdom, though not running under this name, was in safe hands. But France was still a mess. Only slowly, the religious wars would subside. Henry was a kind king who would later be called 'Henry the great'. He often emphasized on how he didn't care about his people's beliefs but only wanted them to have enough to eat.

By time, Henry proved to be reliable, courageous and smart. Instead of waging costly wars to suppress opposing nobles, Henry simply paid them off. As king, he adopted policies and undertook projects to improve the lives of all subjects which made him one of the counry's most popular rulers ever.  
Unlike of most other rulers – perhaps also in other kingdoms, he was one caring for the 'lowlifes', the simple farmers and peasants.  
Henry just stood in contrast to the last kings of the House of Valois who had just been sick and frightened in the end.

The first marriage of the French king wasn't a happy one and they remained childless. Having a heir was still important. Even more so because Henry wasn't that young anymore and there was always a risk, when being a king…  
He suggested himself to be married to Gabrielle d'Estrées, who had already borne him 3 children. The council was against that – and an amount of time after this, Gabrielle died mysteriously from childbirth. The forced marriage to Margaret de Valois was annulled in 1599, and one year later he married Marie de Medici…  
France, both most of the people of France and the personified nation itself worried, after having experienced Catherine de Medici who had been a 'monster-in-law' in the end of her ruler ship as the queen mother. Hopefully, Marie wouldn't be the same.  
The Jesuits however liked the idea and gave Henry the title of the 'Hercule Gaulois' (Gallic Hercules), as a reminder of how the origin of the House of Navarre could be traced back to the nephew of Hercules' son Hispalus.

Living on the French court in le Tuileries was pleasant for Francis. He got paperwork to do and got to know his new king that had come from the northern area of the Iberian peninsula. He was an outsider on geographic terms. But Henry IV. was an open-minded man. He was very normal too with being a womanizer. He just picked things that were to his likings.  
The king didn't care much for Francis in person. Mostly he just let him be.

During the reign of Henry, various enterprises were set up to develop trade to faraway lands – in which Francis was also interested in. In Winter 1600, a company was formed through the association of Saint-Malo, Laval and Vitré to trade with the Moluccas (around Indonesia) and Japan.  
Francis signed up for the travel to the far east and that he'd bring as much information as possible about the 'hidden land'. The king was pleased about so much enthusiasm and granted Francis the command over one of two ships that were sent around the Cape in May 1601.

One of them was named Corbin, the other Croissant. Being amused over the name, Francis took the Croissant as his ship. Luckily, it was not the Croissant that got shipwrecked in the Maldives during the travel. The other ship but reached Ceylon (Sri Lanka) before the Southern Indian coast…

One day after they had landed safely on Ceylon, Francis was sitting on the beach with his sketchbook in his hands and scribbled all the new plants he found. Actually he had started from the hosting village - the French had forced themselves onto the natives with their charm - and had 'discovered' his way down to the beach. The sun had tanned his skin already from the sea route towards this place.  
Faintly, France wondered if Scotland missed him. If he would look out for him like Francis had after Alasdair had ran away…  
Francis felt very unloved at the thought that Scotland hadn't visited him in the last 10 or 20 years since he had said to have to care for his homeland.  
The beauty of the Island could minor his heartaches a bit.

The Frenchman scribbled calmly on a flower he had found, but his thoughts always came back to Alasdair. Yes, he missed him. He had forced his love on him. Ever since he had recovered the older nation in 1567, the other hadn't said a single time that he would love him too, had he? As Francis had moved over to the Tuileries, he had taken all of his stuff from Perth and had only left behind Canada as he did not want to separate the boy from his sister.  
Would it ever be the same again? The blonde remembered the time in which Alasdair had raised him to be a warrior, a knight. He had the other boy's full attention and was practically showered in love. They had just each other.  
Then again, Francis had changed a lot as well. He wasn't the cute little innocent boy from back then. Often, he would appear sad and sarcastic. Ugly traits, non?  
"No wonder, that he does not love me anymore…", Francis sighed.

Suddenly, a man was standing beside him and saying something in a foreign language. Of course 'foreign'. He was a native! Francis was the foreign one… The blonde frowned. Foreign or not, he didn't understand the other one. "Je ne comprends pas… (I don't understand…)"  
Francis thought for a moment, then gave the man a blank page from his sketchbook and the piece of charcoal. Perhaps the man could express himself like this? The blonde gestured the other one to draw.

The 'native' man was about Francis' height, had smooth black hair, warm brown eyes, dark skin… and a spot between his eyebrows. The teeth however were white and the smile thus emphasized. The man appeared very friendly. The man drabbled a map of India along with the Island Ceylon on the southern coast and showed it to him. Francis just shook his head. He didn't know that much about geography. After all, most maps were incorrect anyway. Yet, he could recognise that this was the map of a piece of land. The man pointed to India and then to himself.

"Ahh.. Je comprends. Vous êtes une nation (I see. You are a nation).", Francis looked at the guy with big eyes. How was that possible? Besides, if he had understood it, 'India' was off the mainland. Why at this time? Though… it was nice. Real nice.  
India asked him to give him to sketchbook. The Indian man looked through it and said various words to it, though neither the book nor France would have understood any of that. From the tone of the man's voice but it would have been positive comments.  
"आपका नाम?", India asked in Hindi. Then he tried in Tamil. Since Francis was still not reacting, he just pointed to himself, said his name, and then pointed to Francis.  
"France. … Je suppose que, parlant à vous être gênant. (I guess, talking to you will be troublesome.)"

They spent quite some time together. And though they couldn't share a language, they could manage to have a conversation. Time seemed to be flowing by ever so quickly. 5 years had passed when Francis found it was the time to leave. By then, India had learned a bit of French and Francis a bit of Hindi.  
The French sailors slowly came to fill the ship with goods from India/Ceylon. Many of them asked if they could also take the women they had found with them. France had to think about it. No problem in taking them home. But what would their families here say? He spoke to India. India could talk to the villagers about this problem. Some of them were strictly against it, others didn't mind. Francis had promised to keep connection as the king had a growing interest for the far-east. So either there could be payment for the 'lost daughters' or they could just keep contact.

The 'Croissant' still had to come across Sumatra as an order from the king. But as they returned to sail back home, they were captured by the Dutch.  
"Sta mij toe om u te begeleiden naar huis veilig, Frankrijk ...(Allow me to escort you back home safely, France)", Netherlands said. He was a tall man with blonde hair and the typical nordic blue eyes. His hair was styled upwards so it resembled a flower.  
"No need for that, you bastard.", France rudely replied. Their ships were sailing side by side now and the Dutch were just before entering the French ship. "I find home myself."  
"Ooh, what an insult.", the Dutch man switched to English. "But I didn't do anything bad. Just offering you my help."  
"Oui, and at what cost? I do not desire on giving you my loot, you pirate! I do not fall for that."  
"Be that way. I will have what I want anyhow."  
"Like your independence from Spain? I don't believe that he will give up on you."

The Dutch sailors had shot grappling irons at the French ship and the fight between the Two started. The Indian women were kept under deck.  
"Har, you fence like a girl, Frankrijk.", the Dutch captain said and laughed. He wasn't the type to laugh usually, but he wanted to taunt Francis, to make him angry and therefore unfocused.  
"What's always with this girl commentary? I do have long hair but that doesn't mean I'm a girl!", it worked. Francis got angry and his movements became less swift and flexible.  
In no time, the Dutch had taken control over the 'Croissant'.

"Mmhh.. you have been over in India, right?", Netherlands said and he checked on the lode. Then he looked at the scared women. "Sex slaves, Frankrijk?"  
"Non. They're supposed to be representatives of India over in France.  
"Oh, of course…", the tall man rolled his eyes.  
"Let me keep the women, s'il vous plait. And at least 10 per cent of my lode. I guess I'll just have to accept that you have beaten me."  
The man thought for a while, lighting his cigar. "15 per cent it is. For you made it so easy for us to take over. And you still need to get home. I wouldn't want to be responsible for you eating each other."

And with that, the Dutch left the French pretty annoyed.  
The sailors were angry at each other, and also at their captain. France didn't bother much about it and said that they should just carry on.

The arrival at the harbour of Marseille was nonetheless filled with honour and happiness. All of the men were then escorted with chariots further north to Paris, to the Gardens of the Tuileries. Over there, everyone had to tell a story, then the Indian women were introduced and Francis had to hand in his report on the far-east.  
On the way to his king, he found a familiar person standing in the hallway…Scotland!  
Pretending, the redhead wasn't there, Francis continued his walk to the bureau of the king.

But Alasdair grabbed his shoulder and pinned him to the next wall.  
"Dae ye think you're th' ainlie yin wha cuid uise messenger birds? fur howfur lang wur ye gaun tae let me hauld yer horses fur ye? Ah git tae ken howfur quick ye cuid settle yer precious king intae yer capital. That mist huv bin it, richt? at least whit ah thought. 'n' then ye wouldn't return. Plus ye teuk a' o` yer belongings. A' o' thaim!", green eyes darkened and showed both pain and anger. "Ah wis sae goddamn worried, wee prince. Especially whin ah heard ye git attacked by th' Dutch."  
"Wee prince?", Francis asked in a hoarse tone. "You haven't said that in a very long time…I've been wondering what's left from our time in the Normandie."  
With a confused look, Alasdair released the smaller blonde.

"Is that, whit ye huv bin thinking…? how come haven't ye talked tae me? Goddamnit. You're aye sae stupit 'n' cute …", the redhead had to pause. "Aye, we did git merrit spontaneously, 'n' mibbie an' a' against oor wull. Bit ah learned tae loue ye sae quickly… Dae ye think ah wouldn't huv stayed by yer side in a' o' th' wars if ah hadn't loved ye sae muckle? Or ah cuid as weel huv stairted anither kinship! ye wur th' ainlie yin ah ever pure loved. 'n' whin thay said that th' Alliance wis gaun tae end, it appeared that a' th' world wid cease tae exist as weel, fur everything appeared sae meaningless. It juist worked oot whin ye cam tae tak' me hame frae Orkney."  
Francis felt ashamed and looked to the ground. Why had he been so heartless now? Scotland was still full of love for him.

"Francis?", said person looked up. "Believe me in this. Don't mak' me say sic mushy crap again."  
"…Oui.", Francis was still kind of taken aback, but snuggled onto his husband with mixed feelings. "…h-how are the children?"  
"They're braw. Don't worry sae muckle aboot thaim. Ah mean… it haes bin a lang time sin we did something fur ourselves. Ah think, merrit couples need that frae time tae time. Fur otherwise it micht happen, that th' guidman or th' guidwife gang astray.", Alasdair gave Francis a smug grin.  
"I'm sorry, I did that…I… I just wanted to …"  
"Tae gang onto a journey? I'm glad you're save back. Howfur did ye rammy th' Dutch anyway?"  
"Ugh… I think I kind of surrendered. …But they left us all of the women and 15 percent of the lode."  
"That wis gey crakin' o' thaim."


	32. Chapter 31

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Francis handed in his report about the journey. The pictures he had drawn were among them. Little nervous was the nation as he had never shown his artwork in public. But as it was the time of the Renaissance, he was never too tired to practice and practice! Eventually, he became a master on both pencil and brush. He would have wished for his old friend, master da Vinci to have seen and further advise him, but the man had perished almost a century ago – when Francis was still involved into the Italian wars. What a waste it was to fight against the 'holy league'. A waste of time and the lives of many good men.  
Scotland said, his artworks were great. But he also said that to everything Francis did, so the Frenchman doubted his husband's words a little. He wanted real critique, as to advance his skills.

After the report was delivered, Francis was free to walk around with Alba. The children were still back in Scotland, as Alasdair had said. But they were to come a little later.  
"Sae… this is yer freish castle, aye? th' gardens ur gey bonny."  
"Oui. I haven't been there when they settled here. But this one seems monumental. Yet I haven't experienced much of the comfort… I was traveling around the world, you see?"  
"Wull ye tell me some o` yer stories?", Alba's eyes were occupied with a pretty flower.  
"Sure. Hm… the travel began with some bigger problem – a problem why I couldn't have taken you with me, even if I had wanted. It was so that we sailed strictly south. It became so hot after a few sea-miles, that everyone had to undress. We were lucky that the water provisions were under deck, where it was cool. And then suddenly it subsided as we came closer to the southern tip of Africa. Then we entered the Indian sea…Our sister ship took a different route and we heard that they were shipwrecked…", Francis didn't repeat exactly everything, just the things that might be of interest for his husband.

"For how long have you been in Paris, by the way?", Francis wondered.  
"Hm… hauf a year, ah think."  
"That's a very long time.", the blonde blushed.  
"Nh…nae. Bit ah kept contact wi' mah bairns 'n' mah king while that time … ah used Pierre. He didn't seem tae mynd 'n' ah wis surprised that he didn't mak' a palaver wi' mah accent.", Alasdair made a sour face.

"Thay seem tae be pure streenge fowk." Alasdair said as they still walked through the gardens, but they walked back to the palace, as the temperature began to rise. It was almost high noon in the summer. Eventually here and there it was also the couples, that had formed in Ceylon, walking through the gardens. The Scotsman had never seen someone with darker skin than Spain. The Ceylon people weren't exactly /black/, but they sure weren't as fair skinned as the Nordic maiden. Besides that, they didn't look much different. The eyes and nose form were mostly the same. Later, there would be even found facts that there was an 'indo-germanic' tribe, giving the base for a language system.  
"Ah wid wantae set sail yin day an' a' …", the redhead began and looked at the sky.  
"But didn't you sail a lot already? I mean.. you've been to Northern America with me."  
"Aye, bit a'm waantin' mair. Wouldn't it be an' a' crakin' fur ye tae discover mair? ah ken that ye keep they drawings aboot foreign plants 'n' animals. Isn't it a treasure fur ye by noo?"  
"It is. But it's only a hobby."  
"Then it's important tae invest time in. Time is whit we huv, richt?", Alasdair smiled.  
"Ugh… I might have to say that I'd have to catalog…ise it. I have a lot of plants and animals, but there is no order. I don't know how to sort them."  
"How come nae sorting thaim oot in books or something wi' title whaur ye fun thaim?"  
Francis had to think about it. Yes, one book per continent. And then? All those animals needed names. Right now they would have to go by the native name, but Francis hadn't always asked for their name – especially with the flowers.

As evening came, entertainment was brought on. Beside a theatrical show, the girls from Ceylon showed an exotic dance in their traditional costumes that they had brought from home. The upper class of France was enthusiastic! They had never seen anything like that before. It might appear that the guests from India were treated a little bit like zoo animals, in this context, but everyone was excited to see something from their exotic culture.  
Fireworks ended the spectacular evening.

Francis' bed was big enough for the two to lie in. And despite the heat of the summer night, they snuggled together as they had been missing it.  
The next morning was rather cool, which the older nation enjoyed. The redhead had come to the conclusion that he'd have to get accustomed to the heat. He wanted to sail the world as a pirate, collecting treasures for his lover. Pearls, gold, gems – the Frenchman should have it all. With a caring smile, the green eyes scanned the sleeping body beside him, then the room around them. The bed was just big enough for both and had curtains around them. Then there was fluffy rugs granting comfort to the feet that would step upon them.  
Francis had a wardrobe containing his clothes. Back then they used to have chests for their garments but times had changed. But the Frenchman had kept his old clothes, such as his wedding dress, he just renewed the garments as they would dissolve. All materials would fall into dust eventually one day. Only the nations would continue living.

Another thing that was unsure to fall into dust was the two suits of steel armor that were standing against the wall. Apparently Francis had piled them up as if someone was inside. One had belonged to the Frenchman himself, the other had been from Jeanne. They were both the same size, but both now too small to wear. Alasdair couldn't believe that they had been children in this time.  
The room also had a desk with items for writing and drawing, along with a chair. And a shelf with books. But besides that, there wasn't much decoration.

Scotland's look fell back to his lover. Francis had started to nibble onto Alasdairs arm in his sleep.  
"cute wee prince…", the man chuckled. "Ah see ye're hungert… let's wake ye up."  
One kiss later, the blonde looked sleepily around the room, with an unhappy expression. The expression soon faded as France woke up. He yawned and stretched. "Bonjour, mon beau. Ça va?"  
"I'm weel, ye? 'n' whit's 'beau'?"  
"je vais bien…'my beautiful one'."  
"Amurnay bonny …?"  
"Oui, you are.", Francis giggled and got out of bed to get dressed.

With the Renaissance that would soon go over into the epoch of the Baroque, clothes emphasized the broadness on people. 'Pumpkin' pants, wide sleeves and the likes were fashionable. Besides that also heavy weight people were regarded as beautiful. The trendiest colours would be black, red and blue.  
Francis wore a pair of white leggings (*1), baggy breeches with the codpiece(*2) in white with dark blue coming from beneath the stripes of the "outer breeches". Additionally he wore a white shirt with a white jacket in which the colours of the breeches repeated. As accessories he had white, fine venetian lace as a collar and black shoes. A dark blue ribbon held his long hair in a ponytail.

Alasdair followed his husband. He wore something similar, but not as exaggerated. Like all of the Kirklands he didn't care all that much for fashion. The main aspect was to wear at least /something/. His favourite colour was blue as well. Francis had told him that it would fit well with his red hair. Then again his flag was blue He didn't have the fine venetian lace, but lace that was fair enough for him, made in Edinburgh. He had grown out the hair in the back of his head to create a ponytail as well, held by a black ribbon. He wore the same shoes as France had forced him to some years ago or was it a decade ago? To the ignorants eyes, they were still cool. His shirt was also white a default thing in the Renaissance. His jacket was in dark blue with black accentuations. The pants were more flat, and repeated the pattern of the jacket as well. The leggings were black. And only France knew that his codpiece wasn't as emphasized as with most men (he guessed), but therefore most realistic. The Scotsman didn't need to compete in order to win.

(Quick Sidenotes:  
*1 knitwear was new in this century, and provided more formfitting and elastic fabric!  
*2 also called braguette, it would cover the manhood, and the bigger it was, the more manly was its wearer. Men would tend to stuff them out. )

Breakfast varied in the Tuileries Castle. The king would eat it with his queen and children in his very private dining room. The servants would eat in the kitchen, right at the source. The guests would eat in the main dining hall – and the higher up servants, such as the nations were, had their own dining room. It was something between of what the guests and what the royal family had.  
During the breakfast was little entertainment with sometimes dancers or jesters.

Usually, the time before noon was already busy for Francis, like doing paperwork and supporting his king. But the French Kingdom had decided that he was free for Alasdair on this time.  
They went through Paris, as sunbeams heated up the morning air.  
And though neither of them had to cook they visited the 'quartier des halles', the 'belly' of Paris. There, you could get all kinds of food and other items in good quality for a reasonable price. The only problem was the peasants and thieves that dwelled in that area like moths around the flame.  
"Ye ken… We shuid sit fur a portrait.", Alasdair said as he saw a painter among the market halls. "Th' bairns, ye 'n' me. We won't be sae young anymair in future time. It's kind o' late awready. … kind o' dowie. We ne'er made a pentin frae whin we wur merrit."  
"You're right.", Francis was in a good mood and snuggled up to Alasdair.

Dinner was rich this noon. Everyone would dine in the main dining hall for it, even the royal family, to show that they would be there for their people. It was 6 different main menus from to choose, of course with aperitif and a huge variety of desserts.  
But before the desserts were served, about an hour after Dinner had started, the event for the evening was announced. It was a huge dance festival along with supper and cheese.

"Ye huv. Na, ah mean, yer culture haes changed a lot. It seems that maist o` yer lee seems tae be fur delight.", Alasdair complimented his husband.  
"Oui, I think so too. But I am still cautious as there is still troubles.", Francis frowned. "Henry isn't very faithful. And then there is still the sister of Henry of Valois, the former King. And the pope is comme ci comme _ç_a (not happy nor unhappy) about Henry caring about both Protestant and Catholics. 'A French king has to be absolute Catholic' and 'All of the Protestant should burn in hell' is what the pope says. But I like the intention of Henry that he likes all of the people he was entrusted."

At the evening, an orchestra was present at the royal gardens. Tables were set up with light food and cheese for those that wanted to end their meal (cheese closes the belly). Wine and bread everywhere…  
In the middle was a dancing area, were men and women were dancing and enjoying themselves.  
As Alba and France showed up, the king drew the attention of everyone unto the two nations and more or less commanded them to dance as well, regardless of both being male. It was a certain taboo. But Henry emphasized that it was to show how a Celtic or Scottish dance was performed.  
One could tell, that the redhead was embarrassed with so many eyes resting on his body, but tried his best to give an idea on the Scottish culture. And for sure, this evening was a sign that there was still something about the Auld Alliance left in the heads of the people.

But history would just continue, regardless if there was good or bad kings. And Henry's time had come in the same summer. On May 14th, he was assassinated in his coach by traffic congestion for the Queen's coronation ceremony. Three more noblemen were with Henry and got wounded, but the Assassin succeeded in killing the King of France.  
The burial found place in the Saint Denis Basilica. The Queen Marie de Medici became regent for her 9 year old son, Louis XIII..


	33. Chapter 32

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

"Good morning.", a soft voice called out. "Good morning, Darling. You don't want to sleep all day? It's our baby boy's birthday."  
"Mmh… Ugh, it's morning already?", Francis woke up and had to rub his eyes. Where the hell was he? Not in his 'normal' bedding with Scotland, that for sure. Everything looked dreamy. The bedroom was held in violets and blues. Dim dreamy colours.  
And then it was England who had woken him up. He was wearing a pompous dress with a very white skirt and a petit crown on top of his unruly blonde hair. In short, he looked like a queen. "What the hell is going on?"  
"Did you hit your head? We have no time for this crap. Get going.", Arthur was about to leave the room but hesitated.

"Where is Alasdair?", the older Blonde asked as he looked for garments. There was a usual Renaissance attire, but held in white with a bit of red and gold. Along with a larger crown – larger than England's at least.  
"How dare you talk about my brother like that? What do you want with him? …Now get dressed! We can't have the court waiting. You're the king, remember?"

All of this had to be a play in a theatre. Or a bad april fools joke. But Francis would play along. As he got finished with dressing, he wore puffy pants over white leggings, a white jacket with golden trims and a red cape, also with golden trims. Then he put on the crown. Actually a nice thing to be a king for once, the nation said to himself. He followed Arthur outside and to the throne room. A big banquet was set up and two happy children were already in the centre: Alfred (America) and Matthieu (Canada). They were just waiting for their parents. In a corner there was a big pile of presents wrapped in colourful paper with glittering ribbons. On the banquet table was big cakes and all kinds of candy. Even some things of which Francis didn't know – and he knew a lot.

But yes, Francis was enjoying all of it. It was such a happy atmosphere. And even if he was married to England, the Englishman didn't seem to be as grumpy as usual. Demanding, yes, but no heart breaking violence.  
It was a happy kind of birthday…  
It only got interrupted when Francis woke up – this time for real.  
He was back in his old bedroom with Alba. The room didn't look as fabulous anymore, and his clothes weren't as shiny.  
But what was this dream all about? Was it what he really desired? Some people said that in dreams the true wishes of the heart would be revealed.

"Oh, ye're awake? A'm sorry, Ah dinnae wantae wake up.", Alasdair said with a frowning smile. He was standing in front of a mirror and wore a pleated skirt for some reason and Francis thought he'd be still dreaming. He threw a pillow at the redhead.  
"Ah… A'm sorry? A'm sorry ah woke ye up."  
"Stop apologising and explain yourself!", France demanded sitting up in bed and staring at the older man. "Why are you wearing a skirt?"  
"That's nae a 'skirt'.", Alasdair explained and thought for a moment. Actually, women wore skirts but they had never been short. No one would see a girl's or woman's feet. It was just inacceptable in society. But here, this one just went to his knees. "It's a 'Kilt', a 'fèileadh mhor' (early, larger version of the actual kilt). Mah fowk stairted tae wear it actually a hunner years ago. 'n' some o' mah aristocrats an' a' dae sae. Mah Clans an' a', thay huv a tartan pattern tae Marc frae whilk Clan, whilk fowk thay ur. Ah made mah ain pattern 'n' gave it in order tae a tartan maker. Thus, ah huv mah gey ain kilt pattern noo."

The redhead turned and showed his new piece of garment from every side. The whole thing was held by only one belt, but it seemed like it was majorly just a very long piece of fabric, pleated on the backside and wrapped around several times, before the overlapping would be hung over one shoulder. It looked very comfy and huggable.  
A wolfish grin fell over Francis' face. "I'm glad that you finally accept who's got the pants on in this relationship. It's going to be me."  
The Frenchman left the bed and strolled over to Alasdair to hug him from behind. It was then that he noticed that his husband didn't wear anything beneath…

"What is this?! You're naked under there!", France was surprised in both an icky and in a happy way. He couldn't stop smiling like a fool. "Is that normal or just for today?"  
The redhead first didn't reply, but then explained that it would be uncomfortable to wear normal pants beneath. Especially because the 'puffy pants' would make everything worse. And leggings weren't any better.  
"I like the kilt…", Francis muttered and bend to pet his husbands leg which he found very sexy at the time.  
"Ah lik' that ye lik' it …", Alasdair said after clearing his throat, but forced Francis to be on eye-level as much as this was possible. He kissed the younger nation as if to distract him from the leg.  
…Neither of them could have left the room without proper love-making anyway.

At the same time in the eastern and central part of Europe, another war on religion and dynasty was dwelling and soon France had to decide on what side he would stand on. Louis XIII. couldn't decide, because his father Henry had always also been for the Huguenots. Then again, just like his father, Louis found himself against the odds of the pope and also the catholic Hapsburg which were still encircling France in a more or less obvious way.  
Louis' wife, Anne of Austria, had been the eldest child of Hapsburg parents. She had married Louis in 1612, and became the queen of France at the same year. Despite bearing the name 'of Austria', she had been born in Spain and also brought some influence. The Spanish had defended themselves against the Ottoman Empire, against the islamic invasion, and therefore were even more proud of being catholic.

In the end, France had to recognise that it was impossible to flee from the influence of Spain, as Spain's belongings were scattered not only over Europe, but also over America. It was impossible to flee from a provocation. But before Spain could even pay attention to what France was doing, there was still the independence of the Netherlands going on as it split from the rule of Spain. In the end, the Netherlands succeeded.

Now back to the dwelling war in the east of Europe.  
The actual trigger of the war was the rebellion of the social classes in Bohemia (today's Czech and Slowakia). There had been a Letter in which the people of Bohemia were granted freedom of religion but soon after the emperor had gained his stability, he would take it all back, leaving an angry mob of citizens of all classes of Bohemia. The emperor answered the uprising with a prohibition that no more than 2 people were allowed to gather somewhere. On May 1618, aristocrats armed with guns and rapiers stormed the castle of Prague, the capital of Bohemia. After a fierce discussion with the representatives of the emperor, they were simply thrown out of the window.  
The representatives survived this act, but the message was of no misconception. It was like they had thrown the emperor himself out of the window. It was almost like they had declared war on their emperor with doing this.

After the little revolt, the revolting groups voted a board of directors which was made up from 30 men from all classes. Their tasks were to construct a constitution, to vote for a new king, as to replace the still existing emperor, and to put up a military defence against the ruling emperor.  
The Hapsburg became interested and sent a Duke of their own to be the king, but after many battles Frederick, who had been candidate by the protestant union of Bohemia, became the king of Bohemia.  
At the same time, Ferdinand, who had been the former king of Bohemia after the Emperor, was on his way to Frankfurt in order to become the new king of the Holy Roman Empire.

The new Emperor Ferdinand II. was able to convince the Bavarian duke to join into battle against the rebellious Bohemia. Yet in the first time they had been in trouble as the Transylvanian ruler who was in alliance with Bohemia attacked Vienna. Soon after the Transylvanian ruler retreated, both Bohemia and the Holy Roman Emperor gathered people and forces to attack each other. Ferdinand entered Bohemia with no trouble. Even Gabór, the Transylvanian ruler could not stop him.  
Frederick fled over the northern states of the Holy Roman Empire over to Den Haag in the Netherlands. Ferdinand put an Imperial Ban on Frederick, so he wouldn't touch Hapsburg ground anymore. The Protestant Union has been resolved shortly after.

Separately to these events in the eastern part, there was several smaller battles going on within the Holy Roman Empire itself. And also for the Netherlands and Spain the war on independence continued – but Spain failed to reclaim the Netherlands as there was not enough money left for to send out troops.

After Ferdinand won the war, there was no further need for France to decide. The Hapsburg Emperor would be fine without him. Louis XIII. started alliances with Savoy and Venice, and also with some Protestant rulers in the north of Europe against Ferdinand. Other nations, such as England, Netherlands and Denmark joined this coalition to secure the position against the Emperor Ferdinand.

In England, or rather Scotland, king James VI. and I. was seriously ill and died in spring of 1625 at the age of 58. An almost biblical age for this time. His son Charles I. followed him onto the throne. Charles had been a really week child with instable health. No one would ever think that he'd make it past the first few years of his life. And also he had a stronger elder brother. But after this brother had died, Charles had become more important and in the end the ruler of four nations.  
He got married by proxy in front of the Notre-dame de Paris to Henrietta Maria of France. Henrietta had been the youngest daughter of Henry IV. and Marie de Medici.  
Yet, the marriage of the Protestant king Charles to the catholic Henrietta was regarded as a rather awkward act by the English. She became prohibited to the act of being crowned and therefore never became a recognised queen on the side of her husband.

The situation on the continent remained serious as well. The Hapsburg emperor seemed almost invincible. Even with united forces, the northern European coalition couldn't smite Ferdinand. In 1629, Denmark left the war with a peace treaty. The Protestant influence in the Holy Roman Empire seemed to be dying. With another edict, the Hapsburg Emperor just played all the belongings in the Empire back into his hands, back to how it was in 1555, without asking the Protestant rulers for their agreement.  
But the edict had a different effect than wished: with this move, the broken defeat of the Protestant rulers was newly a-flame and put more alliance partners onto their side than Ferdinand and his League could bear.

After Denmark left the field of war, Sweden saw his chance to claim more territory in the Northern European area. The Swedish troops moved forward to Pommern, Mecklenburg, Brandenburg and Saxony in the northern portion of the Holy Roman Empire. In Madgeburg, the Swedish king met one of the leaders of the catholic league and wiped him away like an annoying fly in his face. His path to the south of Germany was now with no further obstacles.  
The Swedish managed to proceed to Munich, where they threatened to proceed to Austria.  
Emperor Ferdinand felt threatened in this situation and called back a former commander into position to lead his troops. The former commander, Wallenstein, also succeeded in forcing the Swedish back. In a battle in late Autumn 1632, the Swedish king lost his life in battle.

The only legitimate heir of the Swedish throne was Christina of Sweden. But as she was still underage, her regent became Axel Oxenstierna. Another Oxenstierna, but Berwald with first name and much older, continued on leading the military actions in the Holy Roman Empire and also advised the regent. This Berwald Oxenstierna was no one less than the Nation named Sweden. He had been a Viking in his earlier life and with Iceland, Norway, Denmark and Finland one of the big 5 in the north. His hair was blonde and his eyes icy blue. With his very tall stature and icy glare no one dared to disobey him.

In 1634, the Troops of the Hapsburg Emperor and the Swedish met directly, with a rather bitter end for the Swedish.  
The Protestant Imperial States left the Alliance Sweden, Electorate of Saxony being first among them, and sided with the Hapsburg Emperor Ferdinand.

France, at the time, feared that the Hapsburg realm might grow too strong, so he allied himself with Sweden. It was the same aspect as with the Auld Alliance: The enemy of my enemy is my friend.  
Alba was raging with jealousy.  
"He's mah guidwife.", he stubbornly said and pressed Francis onto his side, while glaring at Sweden.  
The tall blonde just remained still and returned the stubborn look. Inwardly, Berwald had to smile, because the redhead reminded him of himself for whenever he would introduce Finland as his 'wife'.

For the next 13 years, France and Sweden would cause havoc over the Holy Roman Empire, without achieving a clear victory or loss. And while the battles moved on, desperate attempts of peace treaties were made.  
The most successful one was the 'Peace of Westphalia' of 1648 in which the 30 years war ended.

Another chapter in the history of France was Cardinal Richelieu. He was the right hand of Louis XIII. and decisively shaped the destiny of the nation from 1624 for the next eighteen years. Some of the results of their teamwork were how the French crown successfully intervened in the Thirty Years' war against the Hapsburgs, managed to keep the French nobility in line and retracted the political and military privileges granted to the Huguenots while maintaining their religious freedoms.  
With Richelieu's help, Louis could modernize the port of Le Havre, thus building a powerful navy. Then he also worked to reverse the trend of promising artists leaving for Italy to work and develop. He simply made them come together in the Louvre – not knowing about the Louvre's future destiny!  
Furthermore, Louis organized development and administration in New France, causing it to expand largely!

The only thing he failed was when it came to reform France's tax system, an income which was urgently needed.


	34. Chapter 33

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Louis XIII. didn't get to witness the end of this long period of war. In 1643 he died and left the throne of France to his son, the four year old Louis XIV. The boy was extraordinary beautiful, with long black curly hair and smart, yet curious eyes. Louis XIV. also had a younger brother, Phillip I., duke of Orléans. Their mother, Anne of Austria, became regent until Louis would be old enough to rule on his own. Also, there was Cardinal Mazarin, a mastermind who was gaining influence on the French court.

(french kings with their time as actual kings)

Louis XIII. 1610 (1617) - 1643  
Louis XIV. 1643 - 1715

(scottish kings with their time as actual kings)

Charles I. 1625 - 1649  
Charles II. 1649 - 1651

1618–1648 – 30 year's war  wiki/Thirty_Years%27_War


	35. Chapter 34

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

On the next morning, Francis couldn't remember anything. But he found himself naked and snuggled up against his brother. The skin was very warm and smooth.  
"What the hell… ?", he started with a hoarse voice. "What have we done? Oh mon dieu… don't say…"  
"What is the matter, querido Francis (dear Francis)?", Antonio took a strand of Francis' blonde hair and kissed it. "Didn't you enjoy last night?"  
"Do not.. speak so loud…", France felt terrible. Either because of the hangover, and then because he had been undoubtedly unfaithful to Scotland. He wasn't fearing the redhead's reaction, he felt dirty and was angry at himself.

"C-come on, Francia. Had it really been so disgusting?", Antonio put on a hurt look.  
"That's not it. It's… I have committed adultery. I'm the worst!"  
"When I won't say anything, Escosia won't know anything!"  
"Alasdair isn't stupid! He will get to know. And then he will hate me!"  
"Eh? I don't think he will hate you … ugh.. okay, he might be mad for some time, but seriously hating you? He is your husband."  
"As if you have ever been married…", Francis murmured.  
"I might not have been… but I don't think he is a bad guy."  
"It's not about him being a bad guy – which he is of course not. It's about me being a whore. This is the worst thing I could have ever done to him. I didn't mean to break his heart like that.", Francis moved out of bed and started to clean himself up as well as to dress.

"Hm… but then it's my fault as well, if not even more! I was sober and I took you to bed. I could have stopped you.", Antonio suggested and remained in the bed to enjoy the look at the naked French body. Too bad he couldn't marry France. ...About Romano, he feared that the lad might never even reach adulthood. He couldn't molest a child. Of course he would find it very funny when Romano's cheeks were red and puffy, but it was only brotherly feelings. And then there was Austria. He had been married to Austria for a long time, but Roderich never seemed to have the time and mood for any 'love'. And here it was Spain burning with passion and hormones. (When France was the nation of love, he was the nation of passion.)

"I'm going to leave for now. I'd still appreciate if you'd shut your mouth over this affair. I wouldn't want Alasdair to get to know this over you.. and… The treaty de Pyrénées is still up, non?"  
"It is. The Infant will come."

The following week, the French and the Spanish managed to meet up in Fuenterrabia. Maria Theresa got married by proxy to the king of France. The celebrations took a while also, in spite it just being proxy. 'Marie-Thérèse, then got married to Louis Quatorze in real on the Isle of Pheasants in the Bidassoa. One of the conditions was also that Francis would go with Antonio back to Madrid, while the Infant would go with Louis to Paris. In Francis' case the visit at the capital wasn't a final thing. He would have to stay a few weeks or months maybe and then was free to go wherever.  
The French nation had taken with him his son, Matthieu, who was also now heavily involved into international and national business. He had to learn a lot of things in order to become a nation that would one day be independent.

"It's really hot here, Papa.", Matthieu said, hugging his little polar bear 'plush'. By now, the once mighty and bear and shrunken into a plush sized one. Mostly now it was the boy carrying the bear. It seemed that the boy needn't the help of his guardian anymore. Francis and Matthieu were sitting in a chariot to Madrid.  
"That's Spain for you.", Francis smiled. "He is your uncle, you know? We will just visit him for a while. Hmm.. I think, Romano is on your bodily age now. You could play with him."  
"Romano? You mean Naples, right? But then isn't he my uncle too? It is so confusing."  
"Oui, it is.", Francis laughed. "He just won't grow. I guess it is because the Italians don't really win wars. They're so weak…"

"Will you send out Pierre again for to keep contact with your king?", the boy curiously asked, also to change the subject.  
"Oui, I must."  
"And Mhairi? And Daddy? They have moved away. It's still kind of foggy in my mind.. they just went away one day."  
"Yeah, things have been messy lately. But I received a message that Écosse now has set off to sail the sea. Carribean he is calling that area. He took Mhairi with him. He, ugh… he said he's had enough of all this 'political shit'.  
"I see. .. whoa, it must be cool to be a sailor! And I know the Caribic sea. It is a wonderful place. Actually, a lot of dangerous people living there, but the area itself is so beautiful with strange land shapes and corals. I usually like the snow and cold weather, but corals are also very nice.", Matthieu calmly said with a soft and cute smile on his cheeks.  
"Oui, they are."

Francis couldn't stop thinking about his sin. It was unthinkable that he would have been unfaithful like this. …Now, he didn't message Alasdair via messenger bird. It wasn't a thing to say over a piece of paper. But he had to talk to a person about it. So he decided to remind himself how much catholic he was. Funny. Since Jeanne he had declared his personal self as atheist, regardless what his official trend was. But now he wanted to make use of what he remembered. Then again, he didn't remember that he had ever been to confession. Yes, maybe he had been like a white petal, innocent and free from any kind of sin. On his way to a random church in Madrid, he thought about himself. In fact he wasn't perfect but he had unconsciously always thought he had been. What has been true was that he had always done everything in his might to do everything right. And now everything went so wrong.

"Padre, forgive me, I have sinned.", the blonde French commenced as he sat in the confessional, next to the priest, only parted from sight by a confessional lattice – a piece of dark wood with holes.  
"What is it, my son?", the priest, an old man by the voice, asked in French.  
"I-I have… I have committed adultery. I can't say that I really wanted. I can't remember anything. Just.. the morning after. I have been drunk as it happened. And then I still feel very much guilty as if it had happened with full conscious… I didn't say anything to my wife yet. I don't know how to deal with the situation."  
A pause stood between the two men. A pause that seemed unbearable.

"Would you do it again?", the priest asked.  
"Non. Never. And I will not drink alcohol anymore. .. or at least not that I would get drunk again.", at these times it was nearly impossible to avoid alcohol. It was normal, even for children, to drink a bit of wine.  
"Why did you get drunk in the first place with the other woman? …just out of curiosity."  
Francis looked puzzled. How could he circumscribe it? "It was a business talk.", he bluntly said. "Uh… she was Spanish and we met at the Pheasant Isle just a few days ago. We were in charge for the marriage between the French king and the Spanish queen. It was part that we would share a dinner. It's kind of important to create a good mood with this kind of business. Spain and France have been on war after centuries after all. It sounds like an excuse. …but I am sure that I seriously learned something from it."  
"I see. …but no one can take from you that you have to tell your wife someday. She will have to get to know it. And then it is up to her whether she forgives you or not. If not, you will have to find a new one. If so, …that's for you to know."

Francis had to think about it. He didn't want anyone else but Alasdair. And he wanted to see him right now.  
"I absolve you from your sins. You must speak 10 times Lord's prayer and 20 times hail mary."  
"Got it.", Francis said. He felt like he was sitting on the school bench. The curtain on the priest's side got pulled to cover the tiny holes in the lattice.  
France felt really relieved and was surprised to do so. The priest was a normal human being after all. But wasn't it always those kind of people that would forge his life, his being? Suddenly, he felt tears on his cheeks. Why was he crying now?

The life at Spain's place was different than anywhere else. It was very much simple. Despite Tonio being a nation, he was on the crop fields all day. Then again, it was a lot of new plants that the Spaniard tried out. Plants he had taken home from the new world, such as 'potatoes', 'tomatoes', 'cocoa beans' and 'bananas'.  
"There, if you want, we can take some samples and you try them out in the kitchen of the palace.", Tonio wept the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand – only to leave behind dirty streaks of soil.  
"I don't know…", fascinated, the blonde inspected the plants. The potatoes were much like celery. Dirty and the consistency was also much alike. Then the tomatoes: They were fruity.. little squishy, but the Frenchman had soon noticed that they would appear a lot like blood filled balls. Then for the cocoa beans. It was a larger fruit containing a lot of smaller pebble like 'nuts'.. or beans…  
And the bananas were simple. Tonio displayed how he took one yellow one, peeled it and just stuffed it into his mouth. The white flesh of this fruit was delicious! Absolutely something for sweet dishes.  
These fruits were indeed startling the Blonde's creativity.

But the next few days it was important to get in the crops. Every helping hand was needed. And so, Romano, Spain, New France and France spent their times in the fields. They couldn't even work together as the fields were so large as they were the fields of the Hapsburg king.  
"I never thought I'd be plucking tomatoes for him.", Francis muttered. The sun was hot, despite him wearing a straw hat and the same khaki clothes like his southern brothers. He kept an eye at his son from time to time. He wore the same attire and was suffering from the heat as a northern nation. Being a father, Francis felt himself fully responsible for the condition of the child, yet he wanted to get him to work also. The time in which Matthieu was spoiled was over.  
Francis hasn't been so strong or smart when he was Matt's age, but he wasn't as tall either.

"How's it going, mon fils (my son)?", Francis asked. His own basket was now full of the red fruits (they're fruits not veggies).  
"I'm doing fine… I guess… eh.", a light sunburn or blush was covering the child's cheeks. He was placing the tomatoes very gently into the basket that was almost just as full as the basket of his father. Now, being without the other two family members brought the two of them only closer.  
"I guess our baskets are full enough. … But you can't carry it all by yourself. It will be too heavy.", Francis made a sad face.  
"Don't worry…", the blonde boy softly said and lifted the basket, that was no smaller than Francis' – lifted it like it was a feather.  
The man made big eyes. Hadn't he noticed before the strength of his son?  
Matthieu however was bringing the crop cheerfully home as if he had never done something else before. Perhaps, he was happy to be entrusted with a task.

Around the same time on the other side of the world, a proud redhead was standing on the front side of the ship, looking out for new land to settle on. The Caribbean islands were still young to European eyes, yet many pirates had sailed and plundered a lot already. The result was but that there were treasure chests everywhere. Pirates had gathered everything they could find, but finding no one to keep these chests after them, the treasure would mostly remain at one certain spot. Alasdair however sought for anything. He would also start relationships with the Indios that lived here, to get some pearls or other shiny stuff.

The Scotsman was collecting it all just for one person. But then again it was also fun.  
He had gotten used to the burning sun of this Latitude. His skin had darkened and the sweating had decreased, despite he wore now the full attire of a baroques Pirate. And wherever he showed up, the natives were simply amazed by his hair. It was obvious that they liked the colour red. And sometimes… he even had to gift a lock or strand of it to them. But whatever, it will always grow back.  
Mhairi had been left behind in Halifax, the capital of her house. It was just better for her. She had grown to be a young lady of 14 years now, so more of a reason to lock her up – at least for the jealous Scottish father that Alasdair was. Scottish fathers could be pretty possessive. You couldn't blame them. Family had always been a thing for the Scottish. Wasn't the Clans family associations after all?  
However, the poor man that would be Mhairis boyfriend would not have an easy way to get through to her.

"Land ahoy!", the man in the look-out cried. He was of dark skin, possibly a man that had fled from the cotton crops of New England. He had been abducted from Africa before. But here in Alasdairs crew he was save.  
All the men were somewhat hazardously gathered together. Every one of them had a story of their own.

Alasdair was the captain. He had just started out with a smaller ship. It hadn't even been paid by his government or anything, since it had been very bad times. Then he had bought a ship from his very own money. It was a reasonable investment after all. He had been sailing a few weeks, all on his own.  
After being lost among the isles due to his bad sense for geographies – and also due to bad sea maps – he had ended up stranded on a sandy beach. The natives there had taken care of the poor fellow. He had been hungry and very confused, but they helped him recovering. As he had recovered, they had cut off some of his hair and had decorated their own hair or necklaces with it. As one more gift, they had given him 4 little pearls: three white and one black.

The redhead remained with the group of natives for a long time still, he owed them his life after all. But as came clear that he wouldn't age or die, they sent him away. They had grown scared of the tall man.  
With a canoe, he continued his travel among the smaller isles among the unknown land portion of the new world. As he came more north to New England, he began to unconsciously pick up future members of his crew.  
The first one basically fell into his canoe and they had to waddle away very quickly. The first man was an English colonialist, but he had always been soft on the heart. In the end he had been the only one alive from the Fort his family had lived in.  
The second one was the black guy in the look-out. He was strong and rather stocky in composure. Scary looking - especially at night - but very friendly. He owed his life to Alasdair.  
The rest of the crew consisted of 2 Irish, an Italian, a Swedish guy, a Mexican, a Sioux Indian, a Russian and an Arabian.  
Sometimes they were hard to handle. Especially in the beginning when they only saw a youngster in Alasdair. Soon they would get to know the leading qualities of the often silent Scotsman.

As they started aiming to gather the treasures of the Caribbean isles, everyone was in for it. Haven't they all sort of come to America to 'make their luck'?  
Their first trip was just to annoy another group of pirates. They were greater in number, but certainly dumb and bad armed. It was a huge experience for Alasdairs group as he learned about his people's strength, and the group got to know each other better.

They came at dusk to the island where the other pirate ship was anchored. There was a smaller forest on the island. Everyone could see from far that there was a feast with a large bonfire going on in the middle of the woods. There had been guards on the other pirate ship, but they were easily knocked out.  
Having found the bounty – at least 3 middle size chests – Alasdairs crew ran back to their own ship and sailed away.  
A few days later, the same pirates challenged them on open sea. Cannonballs were shot at each other, then a good old fashioned sabre fight on deck. Some of the crew members got hurt, Alasdair didn't get hurt at all with his life long experience. But the opponent crew looked worse after the battle!

A lot of victorious battles followed. The crew grew and Alasdair kept on sending a good amount of his bounty to Mhairi. She was to watch it like a banker – just that Scotland would never trust a real banker. Trusting the own blood was much better.

Another white dove flew by. It was mail from France. A smile tug at the lips of the Scotsman. He held the letter in his hand and passed the telescope to a crew member, as he walked into his Cabin at the back of the ship.

"Dear Alasdair…"


	36. Chapter 35

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

"Dear Alasdair…", the letter began, that Francis had send to his lover. Said person sat down on his hammock. The captain's cabin wasn't more comfortable than he needed to. He didn't need much to be happy. But he missed Francis. Without the letters he would have gone insane long time ago.

"I can't tell you how much I love you and miss you. I am covered in crumbled paper now… gosh, I am so disrespectful to paper. It's not like it's growing on trees, is it? Well, fact is that I tried to think of a thousand ways to tell you the most important things on not a lot pages. I can't send books with Pierre after all, you know?  
But now to the more important news. Matthieu has grown so much! He is now half my height. Isn't that crazy?  
Spain and I are going to make a peace treaty. We possibly made it by the time you got it. My king is married then to the Spanish princess also. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that they're both Spanish. Navarra, where the Bourbon family comes from is in northern Spain after all. The Pyrenees make the frontier to Spain, and Navarra is below that. That makes… me being ruled by a Spanish king who held war against Spain. What a bullshit…(picture me rolling my eyes). But Henry IV. and Louis XIV. are good kings. I know it.  
Your country is still not really… they're still more of a republic ruled by a non-aristocratic. Should a commoner rule a nation? What do you think of it? I guess you don't like it, as you just went away at a time like this. Or was it because your siblings were getting more unbearable? I know how Ireland threw a tantrum…  
I wonder what you are doing right now. I hope you are alright. …Pierre would tell me if something was the matter, but as you know, messages come delayed. The distance is just too big. And whenever I think of that fact, it makes me cry. I miss you so much! I hope you come back soon and healthy.

Sincerely and forever in love  
Francis"

Francis just kept these letters incredibly short. But then again there was everything noted down that was important. And ever so vibrant words of love and adorement.  
Alasdair sucked those words literally with his eyes. He would read the letters twice before writing an answer. As the jewelry would be a big surprise, he wouldn't write any of that into his letters.  
When he finished, he signed the letter and folded it neatly into an envelope, and put the envelope into a bag that could be carried by Pierre. It was a simple bag that was prepared to save the mail from wind and weather.  
Alasdair watched the dove then flying towards east, towards Europe.

In the meantime, the crew had claimed an island for themselves. They were cheerful and discovered the unknown place for life of any sort. The redhead followed them slowly.  
"Hey Captain, this place seems good for a feast. Will we stay here for a while?"  
"Aye, I think …", The Scottish couldn't even finish his sentence. The man who had just spoken to him was hit by an arrow and dropped dead.

"Natives!", several man screamed and dashed back to the ship. But most of them were hit by arrows or captured with slings. The redhead reacted fast and pulled his gun. He shot several of the Indios. It just couldn't be that his men were killed like house flys. They were like his children. He felt sorry for the Indios, but it was their fault for not being friendly.  
The ammo of his gun was soon gone. The guns from that time couldn't shoot so many times repeatedly. The Scotsman cursed violently and threw the piece of metal away, exchanging it for another one, a blade. With the sabre in his hand he dashed over the sandy beach and hoped to not be hit by a stray arrow.  
The hope was in vain. One arrow struck him onto the arm in which he held the sabre. The other struck him into the leg. But he kept running as the adrenaline numbed the pain his body was experiencing. At least for a while. Long enough to impress the natives.

The 'foreigner' fell and lied just a few feet away from his enemies. The natives soon shortened the distance and carried those that they had captured back to their place. They had known that Alasdair was their leader for they had hung his crew in nets on strong trees. But the redhead himself they kept in their village.  
The arrows had been poisonous and the Scotsman was experiencing feverish dreams. The Indios, moreover their medicine man, was trying his best to recover the 'guest'. He had pulled out the arrows, sucked out the poison as good as he could – he even had to cut some of the flesh – and then treated his patient with antidotes and healing herbs.

Long weeks had passed before Alasdair would regain his consciousness. His vision was still blurry, but soon his mind cleared. He could only faintly remember where he was and what he had done to end up in this place. As the vision sharpened, he scanned his surroundings.  
The Scotsman was in the middle of an untouched vast jungle, a rainforest. But he wasn't alone. A group of approximately twenty people was living here in huts that were a few feet over the ground. Their small huts were built on pillars, so that wild animals from the jungle wouldn't surprise them at night. The redhead leaned against the thin wall of wooden sticks. He was sitting naked in such a hut, and the hut's family was busy with household. They all were naked as well but seemed unaware of it.

The people here were of dark skin and black hair as well as black almond shaped eyes. If he hadn't known better, Alasdair would have said that they were east Asians left back in stone age.  
The women were busy in the huts or on the ground with either food making or with making baskets or grinding herbs. The men were gone – probably hunting. The few children that were here ran around playing and laughed. But despite them being children they knew how to take care of their siblings and also helped their mothers in case they would order something.  
And then there was the medicine man. He was very old, but the only one wearing a loincloth and a bit of accessories on which even a foreigner could tell that he was having a special position among the group. The medicine man also had two students.  
One of the students noticed that Alasdair was awake and spoke to his master.

The old man walked over and sat before the redhead and spoke in a language that Alasdair couldn't even sort in. The man thought that the redhead might have lost his brain during the fever, and added some more gestures to his talk. Alba tried his best to follow him. He wasn't stupid nor did he lack a brain, but he was more of the type to grasp the world than to think about it.  
However, he let the medicine man know that he was feeling well so far and was a bit hungry. He wondered what natives would eat. Snakes possibly and some unthinkable fruits. Then again they all ate from what the place was offering them and they didn't die yet.

Alba was being still uncomfortable with wearing nothing at all, so he made a makeshift kilt from the blanket he was given for his rest. The people laughed at him, but he didn't care. The hunting men came back with their prey and the women hurried with their work, so they all could eat. It was a giant snake and some strange looking animal that would later be recognised as 'Tapir'. Along with that they had several exotic vegetables and for dessert some fruits. As for drinking they had either water or something like alcohol. Probably some berries they had fermented.

Although Scotland liked it here, he faintly wondered for how long he had been out. Had it been days? Weeks? … of even months? He knew that the Indios here used really strong poison on their arrows. The only reason that he was awake was because he was an immortal nation. Now how could he ask the medicine man?  
As he thought more about it, he came to the conclusion that when Francis would show up here, he would be really, really late. What an amusing thought. He remembered when the little blonde had found him on the Orkney isle. Not even a place around the corner. If someone, then it was the Frenchman who would follow him to the end of the world.  
After 'Dinner', he wanted to help the women with cleaning the dishes or bowls in which the food has been made. But they didn't want his help, and the 'plates' they had were made from big leaves.  
So either way he felt himself pretty useless. Still he wanted to do /something/ and pondered.

The medicine man came towards him and talked to him. Somehow the redhead understood that the medicine man wanted the guest to do some sort of medical therapy. Alasdair ended up sitting with the old guru and grinding some herbals that the man showed him. The guru would show him roots or a leaf or something alike and pointed to his own body where it was used. Then he gave it into the primitive mortar. Satisfied to have a job, the redhead tried to also memorise the use of the plants and everything. He thought of dry-pressing them in books for Francis. The Frenchman would surely love to have the knowledge about new plants.

Later at the evening – the tribe sat around a fire – the guru would show him some beans that he should be grinding. The guru added some spices and soon a brown sticky liquid was filling the bowl. The man sticked his finger into the bowl and sucked the liquid from the finger. His face showed almost lustful expression. Then he hurried Alasdair to do the same.  
"Woah, this is… this is amazing! Simply amazing. Whit's this cried?"  
The man told him the name of it, he somewhat understood that the young man wanted to know the ingredients. But then the bowl wandered from one hand to another. It was like a drug on which they would begin to feel themselves…more erotic.  
It was chocolate.

By this time, chocolate had just been found by the Spanish and maybe also Portuguese. With the Spanish Infant Marie Therese, the chocolate came to the French Court! Firstly, it was more that the French Court would laugh about the young French Queen. But for Marie Therese it was the only joy in her life. Her husband found that she was not really worth looking at soon and would wander at night to other sleeping rooms.  
The chocolate of the queen but was made by her Dwarfs. She had a male and a female Dwarfs that would never abandon her.

Alasdair knew nothing about that, since Francis hadn't written about chocolate in his letters, but he was sure that the Blonde would love this substance.  
The redhead slept the night in the medicine man's hut. He heard certain noises from the other huts and had to admit, with a smile, that some things were the same all around the world.

On the following day, Alba went out to look for his comrades. His fellows had been scattered all over the beach. And those that had been captured alive were killed only a few days after. The natives have not been friendly to them, so Alasdair was very lonely.  
Well, not that much. A Pierre bird came with two messages. One that Alba should have answered the last time, a month ago. And then one more in which France was hysterically worried and asked if he should call in the French and Scottish troops. The Scottish troops were still questionable, but Francis would have moved mountains in case something happened.  
Thus, Alasdair hurried with answering both letters. He was in his cabin on the ship that was still anchoring before the coast. He was somewhere between middle- and south America.

Alba turned his back from watching the bird flying towards the east and saw the medicine man, standing on the beach, who had followed him onto there. The nation wondered what the other one might think. But he couldn't stay here, he had to leave sooner or later.  
Then again he had to bury the corpses of his men. Really not a task he liked. With two months they started to rot already.  
So he disembarked the ship and under the judging eyes of the medicine man, he buried his men in soil near the sandy beach. He had dug the grave with the help of some thick branches that had just the right shape. Good luck in a bad time. He felt sorry for the dead men. It had been good men and he remembered how he had met each of them.

The Scotsman felt very lonely. He had no one to really talk to and unlike most times he felt like sharing his experiences. His crew had been wiped out so soon. Now, he wondered why the natives had spared him. Right… they could have just left him to death. And now he was in their debt for saving his life. Was it because of his hair colour? It wasn't the first time such a thing happened. But then again, there had been the Irish with their red (orange) carrot hair. Shouldn't they have been spared also, then?  
How was he supposed to ask such a complicated question he barely understood himself? But the thing was that he would work off his debt.

The next few weeks he recovered fully, and then hunted along with the native hunters. The natives didn't understand the thought of being indebted due to saving the life of someone… so the problem was that neither of them knew when it was time for Alba to go back home.  
In the end he stayed two long years.

But then the homesick feeling was unbearable. He wanted to see Francis again. Just sending letters wasn't enough. He was a nation, but also just a man. He did an extra hunting round and gifted his prey to the tribe. Scotland also made clear that he had to leave for home. Some of them began to cry, others just stared at him. Alasdair felt sorry and excused a dozen times. He hadn't known that they had grown to close despite that they had never understood each other and their ways of living had been so very different. Yet again he felt very warm around the heart for having such a family who loved him so dear.  
Ah, he could just visit them again later! But now he really had to go home. At the next day he sailed with his ship further north again, towards Nova Scotia.


	37. Chapter 36

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Before arriving at Halifax, he stopped somewhere in New England to get normal clothes again and a trim of his hair and beard. He looked really wild with his beard. Yes, a beard. In the meantime Scotland had started to grow body hair. It was so strange that after all these centuries his body was still changing.

"Welcome home, Dad… Dad?", Mhairi looked at the tall redhead with big eyes. She had expected him to come but she also saw the changes immediately.  
Scotland now looked muscular, slightly tanned which was unusual, and had a beard that covered the lower half of his face. But he kept the beard short now to not look like a vagabond or peasant. His clothes were held in the fashion of the late Rokoko, but in a rather plain way.

"M-moarn Mhairi… A misst ye.", he said with a hoarse voice. It appeared to him as if had taken eternities since he had last spoken to a person. With tears in his eyes he hugged the young girl.  
"I missed you too. Are you alright, Daddy? Don't cry.", she said and touched the beard out of curiosity. With her blue eyes she reminded Alasdair a lot about Francis.  
"A'm juist sae happy tae see ye again."  
"Are you hungry? Shall I cook for you?", Mhairi offered with a small smile.  
"Uh… Aye. Ah wid lik' that."

Father and daughter walked into the kitchen and the father was enjoying every moment of it. He talked way more than he did before this trip, for it was just to hear his daughter's voice. Mhairi was enjoying to get so much attention while she cooked. She felt like it was the happiest day in her life. She couldn't tell if her feelings for her father had changed, but she felt even more clingy towards him, more attracted. The redhead girl would know that she wouldn't like to let him go back to Europe. A hint of jealousy lightened in her heart in the thought that Alasdair would return to his 'wife'.

But the day mercilessly came and Mhairi had to stay behind. Alasdair but had left her one of the chests filled with gold and shiny things that were initially supposed to be a gift for Francis. Five boxes of those would be far enough for the Frenchman, Alba concluded. Thus, the blonde would get one more box with seeds from the exotic plants – with knowledge on how to take care of them and everything. Alba was satisfied and confident that it would be the very best gift he will ever have for his lover.

It was a sunny autumn evening as the redhead finally appeared in Paris, the Tuileries were practically abandoned. Gosh. What had happened since the time he had left? Had he missed something from the letters? He crumbled in the letters he had received and scanned them quickly. No, no sign…  
In the best French he could bring up, he ask a citizen, what happened to the royal palace.  
The king had moved outside… to a place named Versailles. The king before Louis Quatorze had already started something there and the son just made more from it.  
Very well, then.

Scotland didn't hesitate to hurry over to this new castle named Versailles. Well, castle had been an understatement. Despite that the 'castle' was still under heavily construction, a square main house was recognisable. And very large gardens. They were ridiculously large!  
And although the residence was under construction, the nobles were going inside and out all the time. It was like a very busy bee hive with people of all social statuses…  
Dumbfounded, Alasdair left his little chariot outside and asked the guy who was in charge for luggage and chariots if he could bring the content of the chariots to the room of a 'Francis Bonnefoy'.  
The poor Scotsman scurried between the other people and held his green eyes open to catch a sight of the man he looked for. Versailles was so very huge… and so so many people with their chattering and laughing and whatever. Soon, Alasdair was having a headache from this place and doubted that Francis was there at all.

Right as he wanted to leave he heard a familiar laughter.  
It was Francis who sat on a table with like 6 women and was playing cards and flirted with them. Was that really his husband? Couldn't be!  
This Francis wasn't his. What had the Frenchman been through. Okay, he had never been the antisocial type, but flirting with so many girls? And hadn't he always claimed that he was bad at gambling, especially with cards? Oh, they would have a talk.  
Alba summoned his courage and stepped towards the elegant table.  
"B-bonjour, J'ai besoin de te parler. (H-hello, I need to talk to you.)", the Scotsman tried in unsure French.

Blue eyes darted towards the savage looking person. But Francis' heart told him right away, that he knew this man with the beard and the wild eyes. He dropped his play cards and gasped.  
"É…Écosse! Alasdair!", Francis shouted and stood up so quickly, the chair fell over. "Alasdair! You're 'ere! Oh my god!"  
The girls Francis had been flirting to looked disturbed and thought of retreating.  
"F… France, Whit urr ye daein'…'ere?", Alasdair pointed out, frowning with his eyebrows over the girls.  
"Zat doesn't matter.", Francis quickly said, heavy with his accent as he had lacked practice with speaking English. He grabbed Alasdairs arm and dragged him between these crowds towards his room.

Francis' room was quite offside in Versailles, but therefore also pretty quiet. You could talk things through here without being disturbed, and had peace when you'd wanted to sleep there. The room itself looked very pompous and nice decorated. Better than Francis' room in the Tuileries.  
The gift chests of Alasdair had been brought here already.

"Oh dieu! I 'ave been missing you so badly!", France repeated and pressed the older nation against the closed door. He had to get onto his toes to kiss him. The beard tickled a bit.  
"And wow.. you 'ave a beard. 'ow did zat 'appen?"  
"Ah dunnae ken. It juist happened. Ah huv a lot tae tell ye.", he smiled between his beard. "Bit foremaist a'm waantin' ye tae open at least yin o' thae chests."  
He took the key from around his neck – he had worn such a key beneath his clothes – and gave it to Francis, who just blushed and stared to where the key had been. "I must 'urry wiz zese chests. I must see more of you…"

The first one contained the seeds of the fruits as well as a manual on how to take care and grow these plants.  
"…A-are zese chocolate beans? Are you crazy!?", Francis gasped and fell onto his butt (he had been kneeling before the chest). "Wah, I 'ave been wishing to get some after I saw what ze queen is doing wiz zem!"  
"The queen?", Alasdair raised an eyebrow.  
"Oui, she always makes zis dark brown liquor she drinks…she let me taste once and it's so sweet… I want to test it in my kitchen!", Louis Quatorze had organised that Francis was allowed to use the kitchen – apart from the servants and chefs in the palace.

"Open yin mair chest, please.", the redhead demanded, and smiled.  
The next treasure was opened and revealed a lot of jewelry, gold and gems – it was blinding the Frenchman. But despite all of this generosity, he couldn't feel happy. It wasn't that this wasn't sweet. On one side it felt like he was the beggar while Scotland was just lowering himself to give him something.  
On the other side it was still feels of guilt. He had cheated on the older nation and he couldn't forget, forgive himself.  
After the incident with Spain, there had been many hours in which Francis had regretted, even after confessing his problems to the priest. He had just fallen deeper into chaos. He became a drunk addict for a short while, then he had been sleeping with even more women… It hadn't been a mistake anymore.

"Is everything a'richt?", Scotland frowned and shivered inwardly – and it was not because he wore a kilt. Francis was obviously not happy over this gift. Why?! Just why? What had he done wrong now? "Francis, what's wrong."  
Francis shivered as well, and closed the chest again.  
"I am. … I am, Écosse. All wrong. Not you or .. /this/. Sorry, I cannot… ", the shivering increased and the fine nails dug into the wood of the chest, causing the wood to crack and splinters stung into the smooth skin.  
Scotland pulled the hand away from the chest and began to pluck out the splinters right away.  
"Stoap that! yer nae wrong. Ne'er. I'm sorry, if ah did something ye didn't lik'!", Alba exclaimed. He wanted to do anything to stop Francis from being that way.

"You should hate me!", Francis snatched his hand from the caring hands of the older nation.  
"Na-"  
"Let me speak… s'il te plaît. …You have an absolute right to abandon the Alliance.. and everything. Remember when I wrote you that the peace treaty with Spain was going on?"  
Alasdair nodded.  
"Back then I met Spain at the Isle of the pheasants. We had business talk and … possibly I drank too much. The next thing I remember was that I woke naked in the bed next to him."  
The Scotsman sat with a motionless face towards his husband.  
"After that I felt very ashamed and went to confess my sin to a priest. But even after that the feeling of shame remained. I never loved Spain the way I loved you. He is just a brother to me. My heart would always belong to you. But that wouldn't wipe out anything I did. So … I felt even more desperate. I started drinking and also flirting with the women... So my sin is now even deeper. Things got totally out of hands. I wanted to die, but can't so without a heir. Matthieu might be good for it, but I doubt that he could manage France and NewFrance at the same time...so I tried to get an individual heir of France by sleeping with these women. I seriously don't mind if you don't want to talk to me again. …You better take these chests and invest that into your people."

An eerie silence crept between the two nations. Alasdair leaned against the door still and didn't know how to react. He still had to work over what Francis had just told him. He knew that it was terrible… but where to let off steam? Who was to blame for it?  
Had Spain been the cause? Francis had named him as the starting point. Had Spain forced Francis to drink? Had Spain been drunk as well? And even if Francis /had/ been drunk, it was no reason for them to go into bed together!  
A low growl went through the Scotsman.  
"Whaur is Spain?", he asked with a cold tone. He would deal with the rest later, but Spain was priority now.  
"He is… here… this evening.. I don't know where exactly. ..Sorry."  
Alba waved it off and left the room, closed the door with a loud 'thud'.

Francis had expected the older to throw all his anger and hate towards him… but then again, this was still to come, perhaps. And.. what if he went crazy down in the ball room? Francis was startled and followed the older nation in a vast distance. Damn!

Alasdair was scanning each and every room he had access to for the Spaniard and also focused on his ears if he could recognise Spanish accent. Like a madman he went through the hallways and ball rooms, until he finally found his brother-in-law.  
And when he found him he went straight through the room and grabbed his coat mercilessly.  
"H-hola.. Escosia? Is that you?", Antonio said, surprised. He had just talked to a few women. Why did the children of Rome all become womanizers?  
A strong celtic fist met the face of the Spaniard for an answer. Said Spaniard cried out and asked what the matter was.  
"Whit th' maiter is? ye committed adultery, that is!", Alasdair growled.  
The Spanish are known for their hot temper. And their night activity… Antonio got back up to his feet and was about to start a conter, as the king of France interfered.

"Mesieurs, please, behave yourselves!", Louis Quatorze cried out. He was a man who knew how to rule. And besides that he'd gotten even more beautiful in the past years. Long curly black hair fell down his back and the features of his face could match the one of Francis' in beauty. "If you have to fight, please do it in sunlight and with style…. Why are you fighting anyway?"  
"Mon roi, I am sorry.", Francis – who had just come by in time – huffed and bowed quickly before his king. "He… he is Écosse – my husband. And this is Espagne, my brother. A terrible mistake has happened. And it's all my fault. They should not be battling at all! I should… get hanged for my sin."  
"You're confusing me even more than these two Gentlemen, my nation.", Louis replied and raised an eyebrow. "We better solve this conflict somewhere else. You three come with me. Mesdames et Mesieurs, I am sorry for the little interruption. Be of no fear. Celebrate!"

A bit later, the four men were in a secret bureau in which Louis would usually make his national and international business plans. Jean-Baptiste Colbert, the financial minister and close friend to Louis had just left the room.  
"So, now from the start… Francis?"  
Francis repeated his story for the third time, and didn't leave out anything. He didn't feel better at all.  
"'n' 'ere is whaur ah kin wantae come in.", Alasdair announced. "Ah wid lik' tae know… if th' Spaniard wis blootert an' a' or if he hud forced mah guidman tae dram 'n' huv intercourse wi' him."  
"That does not matter!", France cried before anyone could answer. "I am the wife in this marriage, and the wife is always hanged for adultery. And so shall I."  
"But you wouldn't get anywhere with that…", Louis pointed out.  
"Really, stop being a drama queen.", Spain added.  
"Agreed.", Scotland said.

"…I have to admit, that I was not 'blootert', how Scotland described it. I was sober. But I didn't force him. It just kind of happened. Francis stayed in Madrid afterwards and I never could tell that it was bothering him so much. … But I also might want to point out, that you have to take some blame also, Escosia. You have been absent all of this time as far as I know. Francis was just lonely, perhaps!"  
"Sae it's mah fault noo?", Alasdair asked, irritated. From this perspective there was even some truth in there.

"Uhm… this is all speculations. So now we have a few options. You two could still fight. The French royals and our international guests are often bored and you seem to be fierce enough to give them a battle. It's.. show, right? And then I'd like to know from France, if he still loves Scotland at all. …Francis?"  
"I do love him. But I don't know if I am worth it. After all what happened. I mean.. he is another nation. He will not be able to live with me like we used to very long time ago, before the 100 years war. What if I get like this again?"  
"… This could be a problem, yes. Then you'll just need a day in year as a reminder. Don't you have a wedding day?"  
"Oui, we do. .. kind of. But we also kept contact through Pierre, Monsieur."  
"That's not enough. When you love someone you must share some time together. Where have you been anyway, Écosse?", Louis asked.  
"Ah huv bin overseas in America. …Treasure hunting.". his gaze wandered over to Francis.  
"Then why didn't you take a break every now and then? Or asked Francis to come with you after some time? After the treaty of the Pyrenees was settled, he was free to go after you, besides that little problem, that hopefully will not be repeated. Francis will have to never get drunk again. He has to train on that."  
Francis nodded.

"Escosia? I'm sorry, it all happened. I didn't mean to steal your wife.", Antonio said, as an ending point. He was yet still looking forward on the battle the next day.  
"Mmmhm. Accepted.", Alasdair murmured. He was still hurt. But now more over confused. It had never been an issue that there could be other people in Francis' life. Now.. just because he had been the first didn't mean that he'd be the only one.

Francis knew that he had been doing wrong and that he still needed to learn a lot. He had been so naïve. Not when with Antonio, but with the girls. And despite his feel of shame, he wanted more women at the moment… because all the centuries he had hardly paid any attention to them. And as he had started to care, he became interested. Their round forms, their way of thinking, the way they dressed with their lace, bows and accessories. He wanted to draw or paint them. Alasdair would barely allow it, if they were to reconnect. At the same time he wanted the redhead back on his side. Was it greed? By the moment, the long lost lover had returned, Francis had been overwhelmed by the feeling of love. That was the reason why he had been so bashful and brought the older man into his chamber.  
How could the Frenchman tell the redhead of how he was feeling?

Antonio on the other hand was thinking that he could take the blame to save his older brother. Or at least shift the blame to Scotland himself. He could understand that Francis just felt lonely after the tall Nordic nation had left for 'treasure hunting'. No one with a sane mind would leave behind such a beauty.

The king was actually doing well with handling three powerful nations at once. In fact it seemed like he was on eye level with them as a very strong minded king.

Back to Alasdair…he didn't feel sorry for attacking Spain, so he didn't apologise. An Apology only makes sense when you mean it.  
Spain had a point when he said that it was because Alasdair had left behind Francis. Back some time, almost a century, the Ottoman Empire had said something similar. That he'd be losing France by the time the Alliance was dissolved. The Alliance was intact, but it certainly had weakened. Both government ceased interest in the Alliance. At least on the british side for sure.  
"Monsieur…Louis Quatorze.", he commenced. "Whit dae ye think aboot Scootlund 'n' th' Alliance o' France tae it?"

"I know that the Auld Alliance had been always a part of French history and always will be. France will never forget what the Scottish have done for it.", Louis said. He felt like he spoke for every Frenchman and -woman.  
Francis blushed. To him, Louis had made a love confess in his name, yet it was unknown if Louis had done it conscious- or unconsciously.  
"Scotland will always take in a precious place in the heart of France.", Louis now smiled towards the blushing nation. "I hope that you have calmed down a bit and can still enjoy this evening. Will you do this for my sake and the sake of Versailles?"


	38. Chapter 37

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

"Dae ye aye loue me?", Alasdair asked after the king and Spain had left the office.

"Non.", Francis answered bluntly. "I adore you. You're god to me. Without you I would not be what I am today. And even thought I have been unfaithful, there are things that no one can take from you. …You have my first kiss, you have my virginity. You have my childhood and you will be the only one I would want to be married to."  
"Then how come did you… dae a' o' this?"  
"I don't know. I'm not perfect and got carried away. I'm still very young it seems. I have to learn so much about life. Court life is messed up especially. You wouldn't imagine how girls behave towards a lonely man… they wouldn't have known that I am gay for you.", Francis raised his eyebrow. "But as I saw you I forgot about everything and was just happy to see you. I didn't mean to fool you. I don't mind if you don't want to have to do anything with me for the next few ages."

Scotland didn't say anything. Instead, he just grabbed Francis by the wrist and drew him close to kiss him fiercely. He wanted to know it. If France still had these deeper feelings.  
His tongue intruded the French mouth, causing the younger one to moan in pleasure.  
Francis sucked on the entering tongue right away and pressed himself at Alba.  
Satisfied by this reaction, he opened the blonde's cravat, making space on the delicate neck he began to kiss.  
The Frenchman was annoyed due to the lack of touch on his lips and started his own discovery tour. Quick hands opened the shirt and removed the cravat of the Scotsman, revealing a hairy chest. Francis did have a glimpse of it earlier and was wondering about the colour. It was a darker shade of red than the main hair, almost looking brown.

Francis was curious enough to find out on what places else there was hair. And it was so soft…Before he knew it, he was sitting on his king's table over important documents and was getting undressed by Scotland. It was one of the more kinky places to make out.  
"ngh… git na time!", Alasdair murmured, being frustrated with Francis' clothes. He just freed the lower parts of his lovers body and took the already twitching member into his hand and stroked which caused Francis to whimper and moan.  
Being very pleased with what he saw, the Scotsman just lifted his kilt and entered the Frenchman with one swift motion. Francis cried out in pain and pleasure. Man, this kilt really was the best piece of garment the stylish kingdom could think of.

"Why…so… quick?", Francis moaned, waiting impatiently for the older one to move, yet didn't like for it to develop so fast. He had wanted slow sex with Scotland with both being all naked. Or only Scotland at least. He want to check him out! He had changed again after all. The soft French pleas got muted by another tongue kiss. The blonde's fingernails scratched a bit over the beautiful desk. Louis would sure be seeing this later.

For Alba, the desk had just the right height. He was a tall man and didn't have to go into his knees for to serve his lover. With one hand he massaged the soft butt cheek of France and found that the blonde slightly had gained weight. He grinned into the kiss and began to move inside the other kingdom. Slowly he pulled out, almost fully, just to thrust back in with more effort. He rubbed against the inner walls as to reclaim them as his territory.  
Then the redhead firmly grasped the base of Francis' member to prevent him from coming.  
"A'm waantin' you… tae memorise… yer mines. 'n' mines ainlie. Ah wull nae allow ithers tae huv ye, or ye tae huv ithers. Ah don't wantae come hame again 'n' fin' ye in th' hauns o' ithers. …Got that understood?", he calmly said and glared onto the beautiful, slightly dizzy blue eyes.  
"Ugh… uh… O-oui… Aye… I … I understood.", the Frenchman gasped.  
"Braw."

The older nation let go and with the last stroke, his lover came into his hand. Alasdair thrusted a few times more and released into France.  
Both enjoyed their little 'trip to the heights' and caught their breath. Scotland move out of France and began to clean himself with a handkerchief he had found. Then he continued on helping Francis to become presentable again.  
"Ouf… great… now I can't walk normal anymore.", Francis accused with a blush.  
"Then ah did it correctly.", Alasdair said, satisfied with his work.

"Ugh… wait.", Francis warned his lover and went over to a bookshelf. He pulled one book and the shelf moved aside, giving free a secret path.  
"Och? That's gey smart. … gey wise in case o' emergency.", the Scottish said in approval. He walked from the main door to the secret path and followed the blonde. The bookshelf closed behind them.  
"Oui, it has also more secret rooms that you can only access through this one. These paths are connected… to my room, the bedroom of the king, of the queen, this office we came from, a Turkish bathroom and towards outside. With adding the left and the right wing to Versailles Palace, more secret rooms will be added.", Francis explained in a tourist-guide-like tone.  
"Soonds promising tae me. Bit how come a Turkish bath?"  
"Hm.. we still have to work on this. It's actually only one big room with a marble table with a fire beneath. Steam is everywhere and you just go clean yourself there."  
"Dae ye aye huv an alliance wi' that Muslim?", Alasdair asked, a little irritated. With the people from the Middle East both protestant and papists had to agree that they disliked them and regarded them as enemies. It was nearly obscene that France, a very catholic nation, was holding an Alliance with the Ottoman Empire.

"Oui I still have an alliance with him. So what? Do you think I shagged with him? I am not a whore.", a pout decorated Francis' face. Then he went up and opened a trap door with turned out to be a chest's cover in his chamber. Scotland followed him and was once more amazed how it all worked. Francis disappeared into a room next to his chamber. It turned out to be a bathroom.  
"Whit is…that?"  
"Qu… Oh, that's a 'douche' (shower). A new invention Louis put effort into. It's flowing water from a .. uh.. snake. Anyway, it's combined with this bath tub. You don't have to bring water buckets to fill it anymore. You just turn the knob here and the water flows in. Just like that. The sink and the water closet here function the same way. Isn't that great? My king also used the technique on his fountains outside in the Jardins de Versailles. It looks magnificent! You must see it."  
"Water Closet?", Alasdair tilted his head.  
"Oui. …You.. make your business in here. Then you press this lever and water flows from this box and your 'stuff' flows down to the canalisation. No smells and nothing."

The Scotsman was a bit bewildered by all of this hygiene. Where had all the smell gone? In the 20th to 21st century it might be disgusting with all these smells, but both nations had most of their time spend in dark ages, middles ages, in which these hygiene standards just had been really different. It had been normal to make the business into a night pot and then throw it out onto the street, or when you were on a farm, throw it onto the compost to make fertilizer. And the smells were much likely a perfume of identity. You could blindfold 10 people and put them into a room. They would know what the other person had eaten a few hours ago (or something alike).  
France had been bewildered by the change of hygiene too at first time, but he'd gotten used to it. Especially when no one had to carry heavy water buckets.

"Uhm… I want you.. to take at least half of these boxes. I can't accept the jewels at all, actually. It's more honour than I deserve. And I insist on this thought. I know that you took all of this dangers on you just to get me such things, but … what is most important is that you are back save and alive. It is worth more than one million Écus (gold coins).", Francis concluded, looking with guilt to his lover.  
"'n' aboot th' seeds ah brought ye?"  
"They are very valuable! I'd rank them between you and the gold. I'll have to ask Monseigneur for a garden parcel, then I can plant them… hopefully the climate here is alright. Then I will experiment with the fruits! They will invade the French Cuisine!"  
"Ach, A'm glad ye think this wey aye. Yer sae cute wi' yer élan."

"hé bien, what do you want to do now? Join the others on the feast? Louis promised fireworks this evening and a theatre play. He's always the first one to see them. And we still have a lot of nice food and drinks.", Francis offered with a smile. "Or… we just go to bed."  
"Cuid we juist rest a bawherr. 'n' then jyne th' feast? I'm aye a bawherr fauchelt frae th' travel."

Francis agreed on that, but brought his husband a huge tray of food as he knew that the man was nearly always hungry. Especially for French food.  
While Alasdair devoured his food, Francis sat near the window and looked outside. The people on the construction site had laid down their work for today, thus it was more quiet, more enjoyable. But still, a lot of people from everywhere, even from outside France were enjoying the night air and the gardens. With Versailles, Louis had really put up something to look at.

"Whaur is Matthieu by th' wey?", Alasdair asked between two bites and looked to the window where Francis was standing.  
"I put him asleep one hour ago. He has his own room absent from public eyes.", Francis smiled. He walked over to his wardrobe and revealed a door behind the garments. "It's kind of awkward, but I will know when he is in trouble, when he needs me. But he is older now… he grows so very fast. He looks like a 14 year old now already. It won't be long until he is the same height as me."  
"Pure? then he is even taller than Mhairi ah jalouse. She is lik' fourteen aye. Bit then again, she is a lassie. It's ainlie natural fur her tae be wee'er."  
"But she has your genes.", the blonde smiled excusing. "When she comes so much after you she is bound to be tall."

Then, later in the evening they went out. It was summer, so it was a gloomy evening.  
Francis was glad that there was this peace between them now, though he couldn't tell if Alasdair had forgiven him. He just enjoyed the fun of the moment and took Alasdairs hand. He wanted everyone here to know that he belonged to the redhead.  
Yet, it was strange. He figured, that the girls he had met were special because they were emphasizing the manliness in himself… whereas among most nations he had always been the girly type. Either it was because of his hair or because he liked long flowing dresses. So what? He just liked to feel the wind. It all meant freedom. And freedom was the literal translation of his name – France. He needed freedom like air to breath.  
However, the girls had been just an affair. None of them was touching his heart, just his ego. So there was no need to feel guilty, was there?

He watched the end of a theatre play with Alba, then they were all to go outside to see the fireworks that were lit.  
Huge globes and flowers of all sizes and colours illuminated the sky. Snakes and dragons of fire and light flew through the night sky. The fountains were put on as well, presenting their cascades and multiplying the glitter of the skies above.

By now, the two nations had seen lots of them, yet they never ceased to be amazed by the very look at them. Alasdair wondered how many more they were going to see. How many years or even days will he be able to continue his life? It wouldn't be long before he would turn 2000 years. An almost ridiculous number. He remembered the times he had without Francis, but those he had with him had been making him younger somehow, despite he'd be growing 'grey hair' over Francis sometimes. Like, when the blonde was putting himself into unnecessary danger. Or when he was putting him through heartbreak. After all, Francis could still act all innocent and devoted. And he couldn't help but believe his little Frenchman.  
He concluded that the times with Francis had been more happy. He would always put effort into the next day, and the day after and after.

Alba, also called Caledonia, felt himself reminded on how his life actually had been. It seemed so long... but he didn't allow himself to forget.  
Much like England, he had been surrounded by phantasy animals and entities, more than Nessie. The Fairies had been his companions, the will'o' th' wisp had been his friend in the dark nights when he was too scared to close his eyes. It was long before his siblings were born and it was only his beloved mother Britannia and him. The Romans would try and get the highlands under their rule…  
When Eire (Ireland) was born, he was to take care of him. Eventually they would both just run or walk around doing nonsense. Of course Alasdair was introducing Eire to the fairy tale world. It was a happy time and they both were a lot like two playful red fox kits.  
With Cymru (Wales), Alasdair had already been a bit more grown up. The childish innocence had soon worn off with the attacks of others.

With his siblings he had felt like being a fox amidst other fox kits. He had to raise them in his den.  
Francis was nothing like that. He had his wild sides, of course, and he had also times where he provoked the redhead. But most of the time he just tried to be as gentle as a woman. …yet, Alasdair couldn't say that he had a lot of experience with women. None, actually. The few women he knew were the lady of the lake and his queens – especially Mary, the last big queen of the Scots.

"uhm… Francis?"  
"Oui, chér renard?"  
"Ah think I'm fauchelt. 'n' th' firework haes stopped sae far. Kin we gang tae yer room?"  
"Oui."  
Little did they know that Matthieu had also seen the firework from a window. The boy hadn't been locked into the room behind the wardrobe.


	39. Chapter 38

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The sun shone brightly through the fine curtains of Francis' chamber in the Versailles Palace. The blonde young man blinked a bit and reoriented himself. Right, he had fallen asleep… and yesterday Alasdair had returned. The head with the silky blonde locks was resting on Alasdairs arm now. The tall Scotsman was still sleeping, a rare occasion.

Blue eyes scanned the soft look on the redhead's face. An even more rare occasion. A chance to take a closer look without being asked why and how long it would take. Francis liked looking at his husband. The expressive features in the face invited to be drawn on paper, the muscular body invited to be touched. Always.  
And Francis had a chance to get to know perhaps… where his husband got body hair now. It was actually something more private, but as it was his husband, the body of Scotland belonged to him as well as his very own body – and vice versa. So couldn't he just take a peek? The temptation was strong.

Slowly, and even more carefully, the Frenchman lifted the bed sheet. Smooth sunlight crawled over the strong muscles that were wrapped with pale, sometimes scarred, skin. Despite of being a redhead, Alasdair had no freckles. The dark red hair was found mainly on his forearms, on his chest, under his arms, between his legs and on his legs. Nothing uncommon for a man. But luckily, his back was free from any hair.  
"Huv ye fun whit ye'v bin keekin fur?", a sleepy Scotsman asked.  
"Oh?", Francis' cheeks turned red. "Ugh… Oui.", he smiled sheepishly and gently put down the sheets again. "Everything in place."  
Alasdair snorted bemused. "Yer ferr something …", then he pulled his 'wife' into a good-morning-kiss.

"G-good morning… mes parents.", a tiny voice came from across the room. It was Matthieu, all dressed and ready for the day. He was blushing, obviously embarrassed over his parents.  
"Moarn Matthieu."  
"Bonjour, mon fils."

"Uhm… I will go… breakfast.", the blonde boy pointed to the exit and quickly disappeared through there. Now that he had this certain age, France let him live his own life most of the time. He was still there in case the boy needed him, but it was also important that Matthieu learned to live with making his own decisions. Political issues in terms of Canada's / New France's function as a nation were a different matter and a whole lot more people were involved.

"He looks a lot lik' ye now… you're nae sae different wi' th' age an' a'.", Alasdair remarked, while moving his hand through the blonde silky hair.  
"Shall I be jealous because of this fact?"  
"Be, whit yi'll waant tae be. Ye juist dae whit yi'll waant. Is whit ye aye dae."  
"For now, I just want to be your lover.", the Frenchman soothingly said, trailing with his hand over the well-built belly-muscles.

Two hours later, they also appeared at the king's breakfast table. Francis looked like a perfectly shaped porcelain doll, all dressed up with silk and white lace. With powder, and pearls at the right places. Alasdair also looked better than the previous evening. He had trimmed his beard and had given it a shape so it was practically a square around his mouth. It looked more civilised this way, Francis had told him. Also, Alasdair had made use from the 'sterile' bathroom. He also had changed to new clothes and given those of the previous evening to cleaning. Francis sure had talked him into a lot. But at the French court of this time it was very important to look good.

Most people on the court were in fact utterly bored. Most of their time, they spend for having fun or creating bad rumours, thus making fun of weak minded people. Since France wasn't too fond of being an object for these rumours, he had put effort in Alasdair looking good. That he was considered bisexual for now was also not a big deal.  
The brother of the king, the duke of Orléans had been raised to be homosexual, to not draw the attention from his brother to himself and to not steal his brother's girls. He had been simply put into the background this way. Then again, no one minded that the brother of the king was gay. Monsieur was well respected.

After breakfast, the duel that had been promised the evening before was set up. Initially, duelling wasn't allowed anymore in France ever since Richelieu had reformed the land. But since Alasdair and Antonio were foreigners and it was actually for entertainment, they were allowed to do it.

Actually, Francis was against them fighting at each other. He could hate Spain for taking advantage – he came to the conclusion that it wasn't his fault alone. For intercourse it took two people for to make it! And Spain hadn't mind sleeping with him for any kind of unknown reason. Yet, Antonio was still his younger brother and he liked the ever-smiling and cheerful Spaniard. When he was over at his place, Toni would always cheer him up when the Frenchman was making a sad face.  
And Alasdair… there was no need for listing up reasons why Francis didn't want him to fight.

On a technical base, everyone wondered what weapons they would pick and what strategy they would take. Scotland still wielded his Claymore. The claymore was a sword with a very long blade. The blade that Alasdair had was almost as tall as he was himself: 1,80 m (5'9).  
Spain picked his trademark giant axe. The handle of the axe was as long as the Spaniard was tall, if not longer. Spain was just a little smaller than the Scotsman. The blade of the axe was larger than a serving dish.

The royal court of France was gathering themselves at the side as an audience for to watch the two fighters. The King, his Queen and the Dauphin were sitting in the middle. The ministers as well as France himself and his son were sitting on one side, the other royals and guests on the other side. And there was lower class guests, but they weren't as many.

The battle began, and both warriors took their fighting pose. Unlike the duels of the middle ages, they were free to start off as they liked: Not on horse and with any silly lances. They wore little armor for safety still.  
"A'm gaun tae teach ye tae lay haun oan mah guidwife again …", Alasdair threatened with a dark violence-dripping voice.  
"Ooh, big talk. I can lay hand on my brother as much as I want.", the Spaniard provoked with a cheeky smile. The grip around the handle of his axe hardened.  
Both of them made little adjustments in their stances, almost the same if a soccer player would aim for the goal and the goal keeper had to see where the ball was going.

The Scotsman lacked patience and attacked first. Spain dodged the attack and gave Alasdair a swing, so he'd land on his back. But miscalculated! The redhead not only kept his balance but also could lunge a second blow at the tanned man. The armor kept Alasdair from hurting his brother-in-law seriously. The Celtic man had far more experience after all. He had wielded a sword right when he could walk on his legs, so roughly 450 years before Antonio was even born.  
"T-that all you got, Escosia?", Spain said, who apparently had taken the blow just to get a feeling for Scotland's strength.  
"Ah gie ye a' ah huv!", the redhead snarled. He wasn't at full rage yet. No one had really witnessed him real angry. But his strokes became more powerful. He wondered what strength his opponent had. A problem would be that he'd fatigue before Spain had even started. Francis had always compared this brother of his with a black large bull, while he had always been compared to a fox. …Well, this sure was a difference.

Alasdair just noticed a change in the air and ducked in time to avoid being beheaded by a giant axe blade.  
The audience gasped. …And the French nation was unnoticeable gone.  
Their battle continued and Spain went over to use the handle of the Axe more often, as to be more swiftly. Only when he thought his chance had come, he'd use the blade. Both nations took their cuts and bruises from the rival.

"It seems you're growing tired, mi amigo", a happy Antonio triumphed, wiping absentmindedly some blood from his cheek.  
"Ye wish, ye clatty Spaniard!", the redhead beat against the handle with all his might, causing it to vibrate in Antonio's hands.

Suddenly, the audience panicked and ran away, actually making a gap on which in between was standing Francis with the cursed Sword Excalibur. Francis wasn't enraged or doing anything special. It was just an aura that was coming along with the sword. Some stronger-minded guests were just staring bewildered at the sword.  
"Papa, what is this sword? I don't like it, I'm scared!", Matthieu cried but wisely stepped out of the way.  
Francis flatly ignored his son and stepped straight to Spain and Scotland. He wanted to end this madness. He felt himself like in a dream. The sword was steadily pulling energy from his body, but it didn't weaken him so much as he had enough energy.  
Two moments further, both the axe and the claymore were lying far from the both opponents.

"¿Qué? (What?)"  
"Whit urr ye daein', France!?", the annoyed redhead asked. He had asked his wife so long ago to get rid of that damned Sword. Still, the blonde had it in use! What's more, he interfered in his fight for honour!  
"I am ending your senseless fight! Just because my king wants you to shed blood does not mean that I am agreeing with him! Or that you have to follow his irrelevant seek for entertainment! Not your blood is what I want at least. You're both very important to me, so stop fighting. You idiots!", Francis growled and turned to bring the sword back to the place where he was hiding it.

After this incident, a hunt was arranged and everyone who wanted to join was invited. As long as they weren't hunting foxes, Francis was all in for it.  
"How come did ye chaynge again fur hunting?", Alasdair asked. He was annoyed how his husband showed off every time. He could practically feel the gazes of all people present resting on Francis' body. Was the blonde trying to lure everyone?  
"I have to look good since I represent France. I want to be an icon for a better and civilised life. If I can't win wars against other nations, because the contact is missing, I'll simply invite them and they want to be like me. Just imagine, the people in Russia start to learn French!"  
"Roushie. Learning French?", the redhead frowned in disbelief.  
"P-papa, can I join the hunting?", Canada asked shyly. He had dressed up neatly as well, imitating his French father.  
"Matthieu?", Alasdair felt betrayed.  
"Oui, you can.. it will be your first hunting, right? You look so good in that coat. You will do great!", Francis said with a bright smile.

The hunt ended with heavy rainfall. The streets around Versailles became all muddy and the king thought about paving a proper street from Paris to Versailles and to secure the ways in the gardens and around the main palace at least.  
The guests retreated into the hallways and ballrooms. The ballrooms bore the names of roman gods. A little detail that bothered Francis actually since he was reminded on his childhood at Rome's place. Louis was a stubborn king.

"You're all wet, Matthieu. Get undressed quickly or you'll catch a cold.", Francis helped his son undressing. But soon, the young Canadian was against it.  
"This is embarrassing, Papa. S-stop it.", the young boy blushed heavily and retreated to his own room, nearly missed the door in that process.  
"my, my…"  
"How come din't ye juist lea him be? He's in that age whaur hings become pernicketie.", Alasdair helped his husband changing, and vice versa.  
"You know very well that I can't just let him be. He is still way younger than me and I do have a bit of concern. He is… you said he looks a lot like me. Then it's not so out of the way that he might be able to take my place someday. I want him to have a positive memory of his father."  
"Mist we huv this chat again? he wull nae tak' yer steid someday. He is Canadae 'n' nae Fraunce. Na yin kin tak' yer steid."


	40. Chapter 39

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Thunder growled over the castle and it became so dark, candles were lit everywhere. The people were soon covered in a romantic atmosphere. The king announced a costume party for the evening in which everyone should wear a mask in any form.

"What's with the people changing clothes all the time?", the Scotsman exclaimed. It was the 4th garment they would wear. Not only that he didn't understand how people here would show off, he soon was at the end of his choices. He didn't have so many different things. "I'll leave stay out of this event…I just can't go. It's also not like I could just wear your clothes, Francis. You're so much smaller than me."  
"You're exaggerating. I'm not that small.", Francis put on a pout. For him, it was just a routine. So many nights in the ballrooms for dancing or costume parties or for other events. And it was not unusual to change thrice a day. Mostly he changed even one or two times more. Then again he could understand that this was just a very strong contrast to his husband's previous life.

"But.. when you're not going, I won't also. …We could just have a family evening. This weather is just too inviting. And perhaps, Matthieu will join us also. Too bad Nova Scotia isn't here.", Francis smiled contently and put up a soothing voice. "Imagine… a dark room with a few candles, you hear the sound of pounding rain and crashing thunder. And we're just here sitting together and eating a small amount of what we would have gotten when we went for the masquerade. …And perhaps reading a book or something. Almost like Christmas."  
Alba was calmed at the moment and blushed at the Frenchman. Then again he was bewildered. Francis had changed so much without him. He had become a very socialising and extravagant person. Someone who could just calculate every tiny swing of moods. It was a passage in the Frenchman's life that Alasdair had missed out on.

The redhead had changed as well. His life had changed… a lot actually. He had been a carefree child, always ready for adventure, then he had been a caring elder brother always there for the younger ones and sometimes allowing himself to tease the younger ones. At times like these he had done aging a lot - in the heart. Then he had been a loving husband, raising his wife almost like he had done with his younger brothers. He had been a bodyguard in the 100 years' war… and sometime after that. In the last episodes he had just been a lonely man, hunting for adventure, seeking himself in loneliness. It had been several years here and there where he had been alone. When he looked at his life, aside from the last and early years he had been always shoved around by destiny. But what was it that he really wanted in his heart?  
France had always played a major role in his life right from the start. …wait a minute. Hadn't he met the Frenchman before?  
A sudden memory fell on his head. His life had been so very long that he couldn't remember it all ever so clear. But yes… back then.. in the time of King Artus, he had seen the Frenchman once. When Artus had challenged Rome, he had driven the old empire out of France… and actually had freed the tiny nation that had only been a baby at that time. For a few months, Scotland had been the one to take care of the little one, aside from Ireland and Wales.

The memory was blurry, but Alasdair recalled a little boy with short blond hair and bright blue eyes with a very adorable smile.  
"Francis?"  
"Oui?"  
"Cuid ye smile fur me?"  
"…What kind of question is this?", the blonde frowned.  
"How come cin't ye juist dae whit ah tell ye tae?", Alasdair chuckled.  
"Because neither way I make you happy. Not when I do what you say, nor when I do not what you say. You are a very confusing man…"  
"…Bit it mak's me happy whin ye smile. Sae dae that, please.", the redhead insisted, not letting himself distract from the goal and gave the blonde a motivating smile.  
"Mh…", Francis noticed that and was even more confused. But he was willed to cooperate and smiled.

"Ah knew it ~", the Scotsman hummed.  
"Knew… what..?"  
"That ye're bonny whin you're smiling."  
A small line such as 'everyone is cute when smiling' was on the tongue of the Frenchman, but he kept it to himself. Actually, perhaps not everyone was cute. But Alasdair was just as cute. Hundred percent!

The couple went out to gather some food in the kitchen. They returned to Francis' chamber with something like a pick nick basket. Then they took a table and draped a blanket over it to create a cave or something alike. At least a very cosy atmosphere – and put also cushions for to sit on. A candle was placed nearby, but far from the blankets so no fire would take over.

"What are you doing here?", a shy voice asked. It was Matthieu, who had dressed up for the masquerade. He wore clothes in the style of the 17th century, but all in white and silver. Along with the (quite) unusual colour, his animal of choice of which signs were on his clothes, was the polar bear of course. It was common for a masquerade of this time to be colour themed and add it with an animal to give the accessories a direction.

"We're just making a very private party. You look wonderful, mon fils (my son).", Francis said, encouragingly. He liked how his son, though really shy, was still in for the French court life and its social challenges.  
"Ye keek… streenge.", Alasdair had to admit, seeing such outfit the first time.  
"I wish you a nice evening. Have fun, Matt."  
"Aye, me tae.", Écosse forced a smile.

Half an hour later, Scotland and France were sitting on the bed with a large tablet that was holding a variety of food rests from the actual dinner from the masquerade. Along came plates so they wouldn't dirty the bed sheets. The drinking glasses and a bottle of wine, and another of fresh water was standing on the night stand. Candles were also on each side on their night stands for to create a romantic atmosphere. The curtains of the baldachin were drawn and just let in the candle light.  
The two nations spend their time talking about the past and what was on their mind in general.  
"Sae… whit wid ye actually wear if ye wur tae gang oan th' masquerade?", Alasdair asked curiously and pictured France in a white-silverish gown.  
"The animal changes annualy. The evening before new year, when all of the guests for this year are settled, the animals are written on small papers which will be drawn then. Last year I had the rabbit. I would like to have the Peacock one day… the king always gets the peacock, but on my birthday he lets me be it. It's so elegant and flamboyant – yet so manly… This year I have picked the swan. The colour scheme changes monthly. And this month it is white with silver. And… Canada got the polar bear by default. Or he is just so lucky that he gets it all the time. I don't know."

"Ye pure seem tae lik' th' masquerade thing? is it fur ye dress up in a certain manner or is it fur ye huv some kind o' anonymity?"  
"I think it's both. Though anonymity doesn't really matter… that much.", Francis yawned and leaned back. "But enough of me… tell me about you. You have been… through the Caribbean sea? You look good."  
"Cheers. Hm. Weel, it stairted aff wi' th' thought that ah wanted tae gie ye mair hings ye cuid actually need… hings that mak' yer feelin' rich 'n' bonnie. Jewellery or something. 'n' ah knew that th' freish world wis gey, gey rich. Rich soil, unknown fruits 'n' vegetables that cuid be introduced tae th' European cuisine. 'n' wha if nae ye cuid provide a' o' this. 'n' then th' freish world an' a' hud tae offer a lot o' gowd, pearls 'n' cristals. Especially gowd. Ah heard that th' Spanish navy 'n' pirates robbed a lot o' gowd frae th' ancient tribes cried Inka, Maya 'n' Aztecs… sae ah thought somehow, Thae auld tribes hud gotten th' gowd frae somewhere. Ah ended up huvin mair interest intae th' steid than ah pure shuid have…"  
Alba described with more or less detail his adventures in the deep jungles, high mountains and endless rivers in the new world. He would only pause for a drink of a bite of the food they had brought.

The Frenchman had planned to stay awake, but soon fell asleep. The heavy accent and the mesmerizing voice of his lover was just too much to remain untouched.  
Caledonia chuckled. "Some hings ne'er chaynge.", he murmured. "Ye wur th' same whin ye wur a paukit baby… sae cute…"  
Since they were alone, and France asleep, he dared to lean forward and kiss his lovers forehead. Then he leaned further to blow out the candle.

Back in Alasdair's land, things weren't as pretty, also a reason why he had 'fled' from his duties.  
After Charles I. had been executed, his son Charles II. had become king but was exiled immediately. In 1650, Cromwell, an English officer, claimed Scotland as his own after defeating the Scottish armys in two battles. Scotland was under the rule of the English Commonwealth.

Under the Commonwealth, the Scottish had equal trading rights. After 1660, with the return of Charles II., Scotland became independent again and regained its parliament.  
But the English wouldn't bother acting innocent… there had been strong trading interferes. The English would prevent the Scots from engaging in what would have been lucrative trading with England's growing colonies with America being just one of many examples.  
Moreover, the cloth industries were split. The Scottish wouldn't allow cheap English products on their market and the English denied access to the English market for Scottish cattle or Scottish linens.  
The relationship between the brothers was once again ice cold.

After Charles II. had regained power in his land, he let the political affairs manage by the senior noblemen, the most prominent of them being the Duke of Lauderdale. Near the outset of the reign Episcopacy (rule by a Bishop) was reintroduced.  
This rule was outdated and a lot of people didn't agree, thus they began to attend illegal field assemblies, forming a group called the 'Conventicles'. Efforts had been claimed to suppress these movements, and intensed up until 1680s, when Charles died in 1685 and his brother, a Roman Catholic, succeeded him as James VII. of Scotland (and II. of England and Ireland).

James attempted to introduce religious toleration and moved towards absolutism. As it was believed that he'd be succeeded by his daughter Mary, a Protestant and wife to William of Orange (Netherlands), there was no outright rebellion. The people just took it as a phase. But things changed when in 1688, the king produced a male heir.  
At the invitation of seven Englishmen, William landed in England with over 40,000 men – James fled.  
The so-called 'Glorious revolution' had a great impact on British history. Not only did it destroy any attempt of re-establishment of British Catholics, it also gave out new documents that settled the rights between the ruling couple and the English parliament – and the Scottish. It was one of the first documents in the evolution of the rule of law and the rights of subjects.

Most significant Scots supported the new rulers William and Mary, but many still remained sympathetic to James VII., thus became Jacobites.  
One Sympathiser, John Graham, rose against William's forces and even won one battle, but he and his armies were defeated in the following two battles.  
In the battle of Aughrim, William defeated James in Ireland completely, despite the Jacobite troops had support from the Irish and the French. Ironically, on Williams side was the help of the Pope, the catholic Hapsburg – next to Irish, Dutch, English, Scottish and French Protestants.

These losses were followed by an Economic crisis in the 1690s. Scotland was facing a terrible famine. Reason for the famine was seven years of bad harvest. The cost of grain doubled because of rarity.  
The worst suffering was in the north and in the eastern lowlands. In this last decade, Scotland lost about 15 per cent of its population, due to deaths, outmigration and lowered birth rates.  
The English protectionism kept Scots traders out of the English colonies and they disrupted the trade with France. The psychological blow to national self confidence was severe.

Alasdair was still in Versailles, by that time.  
Francis tried to nurse him, but all he could do was watching how his husband lost a good quarter of his weight – and Alba had never been really overweight. The redhead was feeling all too well what was going on in his homeland – beside that he received reports from the Pierre birds (there was always a person in charge for writing the reports…).  
In the end, the blonde forced Alasdair to stay in bed and not to make any unnecessary moves.  
"Urr ye kidding me? howfur am ah suppose tae hulp mah fowk lik' this? …I'm gaun tae die, if ah don't dae anythin'!"  
"You are not dying! It's just a famine, you'll have to brace yourself through it.", France cried. Famines and plagues were something not uncommon, they had been even more common in the middle ages, when war had been even more constant. "Just why does it work only one way? I mean… The people don't eat anything, it affects you. But then when you don't eat anything, or you eat more, it doesn't affect the people. It is unfair! Just unfair!"  
"Ah hate howfur Englain is disrupting oor trade… it's th' ainlie official thing… sin th' alliance hud been… corrupted. . Dear, cuid ye read that tae me?", Alasdair asked, handing Francis the letter that just had flown in via Pierre.

"Oui…", France murmured, working himself into the piece of paper.  
"It says, that they are setting up the 'bank of Scotland'… and want to set up public education throughout Scotland.. and want to make something like a Scottish east india trading company…. Eh.. so far I am understanding it. They want to raise capital through public subscription to trade with Africa and the Indies. … and Glasgow lost over 300.000 people in the last 5 years. Mon dieu, so many… Hm, but I like the idea to raise capital to get a trading company. You will but have to figure people that are able to negotiate with the foreigners. Shall I write a message back?"  
"…It's… na uise. It's crakin' tae ken, bit seriously… ", the redhead looked broken. "It's nae muckle 'til Englain haes th' stowed oot control ower me. Ony ship that leaves, 'n' ony ship that enters a Scots harbour. 'n' th' carrier pigeons as weel. Ah mean… wha dae yi'll waant tae write tae? th' king? He's a goner. No… thare is na body left that cuid dae th' miracle…put it back tae howfur it used tae be."  
"Don't say such things! … my… you have a fever!"

The blonde got up and put a wet and cool cloth onto the forehead of the redhead.  
"Just calm down. Y-you will still be Scotland… right?"  
"Arthur wants me tae… tae obey him. He wants tae… possess me, lik' a glaikit dug."  
"I wonder how he is going to do that… first he must get you. And I won't let you out of here. I will defend you with my sword. Here.", France went to the floor, shoved a thick rug aside and pulled several layers of wooden planks aside to reveal the hideout for the sword. Actually very stupid, to show it to the person, that wants to give the sword back to the lady of the lake. But Alasdair needed security. The man was all eaten up by his fears. France wanted to give him support in this difficult time.  
"You will not die.", the Frenchman repeated and rummaged his brain for any comparisons. "Ugh.. look… my father also still haunts the world with his presence. And then, there's also the two Italia's, don't they also share a nation? North and South Italy, then again they're Venice and Naples. So… you might be…Northern Great Britain and Southeast Great Britain – and Scotland and England still? The Union could be only a formality of things that are already there. And.. who knows. This way you could gather power… until you regained enough to regain your independence. So it's only temporarily."

In the following years, the Scheme in which the Scotland trading company was supposed to be set up, turned out a failure. A Disaster, because not only was the large fund lost, the only ship that had survived brought back only few people.


	41. Chapter 40

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Francis had promised to protect Alasdair. But it couldn't have been forever. When Francis wasn't taking care of poor Scotland it was Matthieu. They had taken turns after a while. The young Canadian had offered himself as he saw that it was too much for Francis to stay awake around the clock.  
And in 1706, Arthur came to Versailles in search for his older brother who had to be present for a merge of nations.  
"Angleterre… you are a shame with that naked head of yours.", France said, referring to how Arthur didn't wear a wig, unlike most people at the French court. Yet, Francis never wore a wig himself, but he was in the opinion that no wig could catch up with his silky French hair. But England seriously needed a wig…

"Did I ask you for your incompetent opinion on my looks? I guess not…Where is Alasdair?", Arthur asked casually and took a look around. It was his first time at Versailles. He knew that as an Englishman he was more than hated in this place. He wondered why they hadn't already burnt or tore him to shreds.  
"Incompetent opinion? Watch your tongue and pay good attention to where you stand, Angleterre. It could be the last thing you see.", the blue eyes darkened and threw daggers into the younger Blonde. If it hadn't been for the expensive carpet, Francis would have slaughtered the cheeky Englishman right away.  
"Yes, yes… now could you show me where Alasdair is, /please/?", the Brit repeated, obviously annoyed and not in the least impressed by the Frenchman's threat.

Francis took a deep breath.  
"He is not here."  
"Like hell he is not here. Now, tell me where he is, if you don't want to show me. Stupid frog."  
"He is not here. And even if he was, I would rather go to hell and let you take him to your place. He is in my hands and will remain there."  
"I don't think so…", Arthur drew his weapon, a simple English sword. He had thought that he'd have to fight his way.  
"Don't you dare fight in the palace… dueling has been disallowed for one hundred years on the French court."  
"Yes, because you're sissies! You probably can't even remember how to fight.. and when you do, you always do with the cursed sword that isn't yours."  
"As if… I can beat you with anything.", Francis said and took a lance that was actually only for show on an old suit of armor. Such armors were standing here and there in the hallways.  
And France lunged his first attack against the English nation.

Arthur dodged and during their fight, the older nation managed to lure the fierce younger blonde outside, where they continued their sudden battle. You could say that they were equally good. The blows they didn't dodge from the other one they would simply evade.  
Just then, a nearby chariot stopped stressfully, while France was blocking off England.  
"Quick! Get him in!", the Frenchman ordered, and Matthieu came, with the help of a few servants, out of the palace with a rather sick and anorexic looking Alasdair.  
"Y-you bloody frog!", Arthur protested, trying to get through the blockade, but the Frenchman was too strong.

Then England turned around to hop onto his horse and follow the rushing chariot. Francis could only whistle to get his own white horse.  
The chase didn't last long. The chariot was too heavy and therefore slow. Too slow to escape the Englishman. Arthur took over and caused the chariot to fall onto the side. Matthieu screamed and Alasdair was practically defenseless. In his state he was just too weak to wield his large Claymore. And Matthieu was hesitating to fight England, the shock of the accident was too much to properly hold the sword he had been carrying with him.

"Anglais putain de merde!", Francis screamed. But all he could see was how England knocked out the small Canadian and forced the Scotsman onto his horse to ride away – towards Calais as it was the closest towards the larger of the British isles.

The following year, the Act of Union was made. It unified the kingdoms of England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland for good. But you could say, that you had the most rights inside this 'United Kingdom', if you were English (and possibly the least if you were Scottish) in that time. Anne was the queen's name under which these kingdoms were all unified. The United Kingdom also introduced a new flag: The George's Cross (England) over the Andrew's Cross (Scotland).

The union had more results: The Scottish and English parliament was dissolved and formed also a united one. The Scots were also given free access to the English market again.  
The Church of Scotland, Scottish law and courts remained separate. Still, the union was highly controversial among Scots, and the real beneficial among them were actually only the lowland Scots while those in the highlands (the larger portion of Scotland) were still suffering from the bad years before. The hoped-for economic revival was only rarely forthcoming.

Jacobitism was revived by the unpopularity of the union. In 1708 already, James Francis Edward Stuart – called 'The Old Pretender' – attempted an invasion with a French fleet. The royal navy prevented any from landing. A more serious attempt occurred in 1715.  
The Earl of Mar tried to raise the Jacobite clans but proved to be an indecisive leader and incompetent soldier. His attempts were in vain.  
As the old pretender saw that it was hopeless, he fled back to France.

In the same year in France, the most powerful king in Europe was about to die. He had outlived his own son and even his grandson.  
"Papa? … he asked for you.", Matthieu said, shyly. He had been even shyer and blamed himself that Scotland had been abducted by England. France hadn't been the same after that incident and cried every night.

Francis nodded and got up. He couldn't even manage a smile anymore. There was no denying that he needed the Scotsman.  
The blonde entered the room in which the great king was lying in the bed. The old man wasn't wearing a wig, which bewildered Francis a bit. He almost hadn't recognised Louis. His second wife, Madame de Maintenon, and his great grandson (and supposed successor), and some other few were gathered around the bed. A seat was left free for the nation to sit on – beside the king.  
"Je suis désolé, I couldn't get him back to you before my death… But… I have prepared my successor for his task as the king after me. …He'll be Louis XV.", the king said. It was obviously straining him.  
Him, who had been through many diseases and bore every operation with the doctors without even showing any sign of pain (he had been through those without narcotic).  
"Non… it's alright. I will get back to him. It will take some time. He and me have enough of it. So please… don't think too much about this matter. Don't strain yourself too much."

"Mmh.. yes, to be honest I can't even feel my legs anymore. It's strange. They have been good legs. All my life."  
Francis didn't know how to answer that. He was old, but he didn't know the pains of being old, like when sight and agility decrease. "It's… kind of unsettling to see you without a wig."  
"My head feels lighter like this. No one will care anyway…", Louis paused.  
The French kingdom remembered the time in which he had bowed to recognise the child king as his monarch. Louis had been so spirited, so gifted and energetic.  
"I am ready now. I have lived a very long life.", said the 76 year old. "I regret nothing."  
"…I see.", Francis wondered why he had never felt this way. Peace before death instead of drowning panic. He still missed certain things, despite being so old. He still wanted to see so many things. Most of all he wanted to see Scotland again.

"Je m'en vais… mais l'Etat demeurera toujours (Though I may depart… the state shall remain). L'Etat c'est toi (The state is you)."  
Soon after Louis XIV. had said that, he passed away.  
Once again, sorrow filled the heart of France. The sun king had been one of the best kings France ever had. Would there ever be one to come even close to the sun? It was out of reach. Unthinkable.  
"Long live the king.", a minister said. All gazes wandered towards the young king that had been named after the man that just had died. Louis Bourbon XV..

The coronation ceremony was prepared. The whole Court seemed to be busy with that.  
But not France, though it was his duty. He was human after all. All of the nations were human. Had a human heart, body, soul… For some reason they were made to feel all the human emotions like they weren't any different.  
Their downfall was that they collected oh so many tragedies over the centuries.

"Papa, are you okay?"  
"Oui. .. That's not.. the problem. A king dying is quite normal, Oui? …But… I fear, that I might lose you to England also. Very soon perhaps or very much later. But I might lose you to him. He takes everything. Everything….", the older one said with an icy voice. "When he will take you from me, you will be on your own feet, got that? I .. uhm… I mock England with his food. I taught you how to cook properly, this won't be the problem. But England surely sucks at parenting. He can't take care of anything. Have you ever seen your brother NewEngland?"  
"I thought he wasn't my brother."  
"…He is. You are twins. It's just that England and I bear too much odds. We couldn't live together to save our lives. We constantly fight. However, England is a horrible person. You better stay out of his way. You obey his ministers and king… or queen. But no more than that. I think I raised you so far to be independent from any adult's opinion. You know how to dress, and keep your manners."  
"Why are you saying all of these things? You scare me, Papa…. You will always be my Papa, won't you?"  
"I will, Matthieu! I always will. But England just takes everything from me. And I want you to be prepared for that time. …If it is not evadable, we have to make preparations for this time, right? Learn to live with what you cannot change. The worst thing I picture is that you turn against me because of his saying. Or that I am sick due to worrying over you… like.. 'is he fed? Does he have enough clothes? Is he scared? Is he freezing at night?' Of course I will always worry. You are my only child. But still…"  
"Don't worry. I'm… I am a big boy now. Besides, when I go with England, I might get to know my twin brother. I try to see things from the positive side. There always is one in life. I am sure!", Canada convinced with an optimistic smile.

"But why, may I ask, is England 'taking everything' from you?", the younger blonde asked curiously, while the two of them walked back to Francis' chamber.  
"I don't know… to be honest. In the 100 years' war it has been territorial issues, like most… in some way."  
"I think I am going to find out why, in case England is taking me."  
"Oui, you must tell me, then.", Francis snorted, half bemused, half sad.  
He hated how things had to be like this.

Louis XV. was only 5 years old, when he received the throne. His regent became the son of the younger brother of Louis XIV., who had been called Monsieur. His name was Philippe d'Orléans II..  
And another wars were going on, soon driving out the time for Francis to think about his losses.

In 1718, France joined the quadruple Alliance consisting of Great Britain, the Holy Roman Empire, the Dutch Republic and Savoy against Spain. Spain had to recognise that it was no longer a great power of Europe. Under a French Cardinal's administration, peace was maintained as long as possible.

15 years later, another war broke in central Europe, this time about the Polish succession, and France joined the war against the Austrian Empire. This time there was no invasion of the Netherlands and Britain remained miraculously neutral. As a consequence, Austria was left alone against a Franco-Spanish Alliance and faced a military disaster.  
Peace was settled shortly after in 1738, which entitled France to annex and gain the Duchy of Lorraine.

Two years later, in 1740, war broke out over the Austrian succession.  
This was an issue as the only heir of the Austrian crown was a woman called Maria Theresa. Before the death of the Austrian king, he had been traveling around looking for kingdoms who would accept Maria Theresa as the next in line, but as soon as the king died, the Nations took back their Accept. The 23 year old queen however was alone with the burden to rule her kingdom.  
However, six months after Charles VI. (the Austrian king)'s death, Prussia was able to claim Silesia as his own, that had belonged to Austria before. The difference between their forces was huge. While Prussia's army was well-trained under Friedrich II., Austria's army was rather wrecked – plus, the old Fritz was a military genius!


	42. Chapter 41

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

This morning, Francis was working peacefully in the gardens of Versailles. You could see the massive palace from everywhere around the garden. Even in the labyrinth, if you would get high enough to look over the man-high hedges.  
The Frenchman wondered how the exotic plants whose seeds he had received from Alasdair could bear the rough climate… Versailles wasn't really hot and wet all year unlike the deep jungles the plants came from. But he cared a lot about them and he had already gained some harvests over the years. When he wasn't having experiments in the kitchen he was out in this garden and helped the plants grow strong and healthy. It was like it was everything he had left after Scotland disappeared. The more he wanted to take care of what the redhead had given to him.

"Hallo, hübsches Fräulein…", France heard a raspy voice behind him. As he turned around, the guy who spoke was more surprised than the blonde himself. It was Prussia, and he had just dropped one of the flowers that had been planted in the garden. The Prussian had obviously plucked this one.  
"Was für eine Schande. (what a pity.)", Francis said and picked up the flower. He assumed that he could speak german with Prussia. "Dachtest du, ich ware ein Mädchen? (Did you think I was a girl?"  
"Uh… ja. Tut mir Leid. (Uh…yes. I am sorry.)"  
"Tut mir Leid, dich enttäuschen zu müssen. Weswegen bist du hier? (I am sorry to disappoint you. Why are you here?)"  
"Eh… achja.. ich suche Frankreich. …Wieso sprichst du so gut deutsch? (Eh… oh yea.. I am looking for France… why do you speak german so well?)"  
"Ich bin Frankreich. Sprachen zu lernen ist Teil der Ausbildung zur Nation gewesen (I am France. To learn languages was part of learning to be a nation.)"

"Aww, das trifft sich gut. Sehr gut sogar. Ich will eine Allianz mit dir eingehen. Ich will, das du mir hilfst, Österreich zu schlagen. Du wärst der Dritte im Bunde! (Aww, this is good. Very good indeed. I want to make an Alliance with you. I want you to help me to beat Austria. You'd be the third in the group.)", Prussia proudly introduced.  
"Und wer ist der Zweite? (And who is the second?)", France asked, who had just continued on gardening. Unconsciously he had Prussia help him. The precious uniform of the albino dirtied.  
"Spanien. (Spain.)"  
"Klingt wirklich gut. Aber war ihr Preußen nicht immer eher negativ gegenüber mir gesinnt? (sounds really good. But weren't you Prussians always negative towards me?)"  
The Prussians had often attacked France, as they were rivalling nations. Two almost equal strong nations in Europe. Yet, it was rumoured that the old Fritz was a fan of France. He had named his palace 'Sanssouci' after all.  
"Die Zeiten haben sich geändert! Und jetzt hör mal auf zu arbeiten. Wir müssen die Details der Allianz bei dir besprechen. Spanien wartet schon …Seid ihr nicht auch Brüder? (The Times have changed! And now stop working for now. We have to discuss the details on the Alliance in your palace. Spain is waiting already…aren't you brothers?)"  
„Euh… ja.."

In the Palace, France first went away to his room, his bathroom to have a quick shower. Showering was a very comfortable thing to do, but now he had no time. Afterwards he quickly dressed – the dress code had changed a bit. The clothes for the men were not as frilly and over decorated anymore. Gone were the gold and pearls. Elegant and noble still, the Frenchman came to the bureau of the king in which Antonio and Prussia, whose human name was Gilbert Beilschmidt, waited impatiently.  
"Thanks for waiting…"  
The king wasn't sure if he should agree. Louis XV. wasn't easygoing with how he spend money. He wasn't as determined as his great grandfather, the sun king. Often, Francis had to tell him what to do after the regent had passed.  
"I assume, that we can afford to help out Prussia… we have him be our Alliance partner.", Francis began, then he set up a document in which the details were set up. He already had an alliance with Spain. And apparently, Prussia also had already made an Alliance with the southern nation. "Sign this."  
Prussia subscribed the document after he had read it quickly. Obviously the eager kind, he couldn't wait to threaten Austria with his sabre.  
Those three nations couldn't have been more differently by their looks. Prussia was the fairest of them, Spain the darkest and France was in the middle. But there was something that they shared, and it was more than their desire to hurt Austria.

After everything was settled, the trio, along with their troops took course towards Vienna, Austria. On the way, they got to know each other better.  
"Say, do you like potatoes?", Gilbert began, as to start a conversation, as he rode beside them.  
"Si, but with an arrangement of Tomatoes. You can eat anything with tomatoes. They make everything more yummy!", the Spaniard recommended.  
"I agree…", Francis said involuntarily. His thoughts circled around Scotland again. Where was he? And would he agree if he was around these two reckless guys? The French nation didn't know how far he could go with them. Socialising became terrifying. What if he ended up with bed with them just became he had been drinking too much?

"Hey now, France. Is there anything you like?", the albino tried once again. "You're all silent all the time. I imagined France being different. More lively."  
"Ugh… I just don't feel very well.", the blonde lied.  
"He is missing Scotland.", Antonio said bluntly.  
"… Yes, I miss him. So what? The point is that I don't know how is he feeling. I don't know anything. If only I … could say that I know he is even alive. I haven't been able to contact him ever since the Act of Union in the '07."  
"Ach, that is harsh… And England doesn't let anything through?", Gilbert asked curiously.  
"Not a single ship. No racing pigeon. That's why I worry. In the end… in the end I am just thinking he is alive, and he is dead now for over 33 years. …I couldn't take that. It's so hard to wait for news like that."  
"Hm. I wonder if England would let through Gilbird…", Gilbert assumed, pointing to the chick on his head.  
"Would you try that for me?"  
"Mhmm..", the white-haired grinned. Then he asked for details. Gilbird didn't know what Alasdair looked like and Francis described his husband he best he could.

When nightfall came, the troops gathered circular with their commanders and nations in the middle for camping. The soldiers took turns in sitting around the campfire, cooking and chatting, while their commanders were in the tents already, enjoying their dinner, and sticking their heads together and looking at maps from the regions around Austria.  
"Yo… Gilbird just came back.", Prussia commenced.  
"And what is it saying?", Francis curiously asked. After Prussia had offered his help, the blonde had awoken from his lethargy.  
"He says that Scotland is not in an excellent shape, but still alive and looks like he would remain that way for some time.", the albino translated the chirping. Then he took a note the bird had brought. "This is … from him? Ahja, I sent a letter. I'm glad, England didn't get it."  
"A letter from Scotland?", France looked like the note was some shining candy in Gilbert's hand. The Prussian noticed that and waved it around a little, grinning over the Frenchman's reaction. "Give it to me!"

Upon reading the note, which really bore Alasdairs handwriting, Francis was so much relieved that he couldn't stop shaking and almost crying.  
"Are you okay, Francis?", Tonio worriedly asked. "Here, have some soup."  
"Merci…", the blonde dreamingly said and took the bowl. "I'm just so glad that he's still there…That's a big success!"  
"Well, I'm glad that you glad. I hope you can now focus a bit more onto your task on being a nation of repute.", Prussia said, also receiving a bowl of soup from Spain and sat next to Francis. The Spaniard joined both with a third bowl and he cut the bread for them.  
"Si. Really, you can't daydream all the time.", Antonio agreed.  
"I'm sorry? I will promise to be better!", Francis said energetically.

After a night full of sheep-counting, the group of the three companions advanced towards Vienna.  
"That girl I met the other time.. she was really cute. What kind of girls are you into, Spanien?"  
"ah, por favor, call me Antonio. It's less formal. …To your question, I like the delicate type. The small and smooth ones with nice skin."  
"As smooth as an olive, right?", France added. "Big or small boobs?"  
"Hmm.. difficult question. The whole presence has to be about right. And she has to be young.", Antonio explained.  
"And you, Prussie?"  
"Nun…", Gilbert licked his lips. "She has to be able to cook. And I like them big. But only as long as they're smaller than me. And I like it, when they're innocent. So pure… What about you, Frankreich?"  
The French nation giggled a little. "I share Espagne's opinion about that the whole presence has to be right. But I also like girls that are good to talk to. Girls with determination and a brain to express themselves. If they don't have that, I only see a toy in them. And I'd rather have them young too. I mean… who would want something like a raisin?"  
"But you should pick the raisin kind when you want to entertain yourself with someone who is as smart.", the Spaniard pointed out. "The young ones are often so brainless.

"Ah… another thing. Do I really look so girly to you that you would… would actually 'go out' with me?", France asked, a little irritated.  
"To be honest, I would."  
"I already did.", Spain said with a grin.  
"Pas du tout… (no way)", the blonde thought for a moment. „Actually, I could take this as a compliment, yes?"  
But Spain and Prussia were already caught up in a different speech, something about dueling with a sabre or a gun.

When the forces clashed, the troops were split up. Spain fought the Netherlands like he had done ages ago before Netherlands became independent. Prussia fought Austria and France would fight England.

In the end Austria agreed with Prussia to have ceasefire, if Austria would give up on Silesia. France still tried to invade Austria alongside Bavaria. When Prussia saw this, he invaded Austria also once again, completely ignoring the ceasefire.

Maria Theresa desperately asked Hungary to help her to secure Austria. She even went to Budapest with her son and pleaded in front of the Hungarian court with tears in her eyes. The Hungarian were so moved that they could only agree to help!  
Hungary not only took back Silesia, but also could drive out the allied forces from Austria.

When Russia threatened to join into the battle, the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle was introduced in which new territorial shifts were written down – and one note on the treaty was that Prussia received back Silesia. One fun fact was that France and Britain dictated this Treaty.

In the meantime, the last possibilities for independence and freedom for Scotland had died along with the last, the young pretender named 'Bonnie' prince Charlie. In 1745, the Jacobites landed on the island of Eriskay in the Outer Hebrides. Several clans unenthusiastically joined Charles. At the outset he was successful, taking Edinburgh and then defeating the only government army in Scotland at the battle of Prestonpans. They marched into England and got as far as Derby.  
It became increasingly evident, that England would not support a Roman Catholic Stuart monarch that Charles was. The Jacobite leadership had a crisis of confidence and retreated back to Scotland.  
The Duke of Cumberland crushed the Jacobites of the 45 along with their hopes at the sad Battle of Culloden in 1746. Charles hid in Scotland with the aid of Highlanders until a few months later, when he escaped with the help of Flora MacDonald. He died a broken man in 1788, and his cause died with him.

In 1756, France received a letter from one of his Pierres…the French had annexed a group of Isles, and the only inhabitant was a tiny girl which often ran away from them. They couldn't seem to get through to her.  
Francis was about to write orders back. He was unsure if he could come there in person, as Austria was his ally and needed his help.  
After the Austrian Succession war, the queen had written a love letter in the name of Austria, thus France becoming an ally. At the same time, Prussia became Englands ally.

In honesty, Francis could only laugh over this obscene love letter. Impure thoughts during mass? What a frivolity. Couldn't the Hapsburg nation not be any serious? Austria was vulnerable and therefore sneaky and disgusting! Why didn't he ask Spain? They had been 'married' all along. Antonio might be no longer a powerful nation, but that was no reason to ignore him!  
Yea… France still thought a lot about Scotland, even though all hope seemed crushed.  
For a few years he had been in a separate war with England also. They were fighting over northern America. New England and New France didn't join in person as they were still young teenagers.  
However, it was like things always were how they had to be. Nations had to obey their rulers and sometimes the nations shared their opinion. Well, most other nations did that… like England and Prussia – who shared an alliance now.

Actually, Spain and Prussia had been distracting France a bit from his misery. From the pain in his heart. It had been the first time he had really felt something like friendship. Just two awesome guys to hang out with. He wondered if he was the only one feeling that. He had been always felt like he was actually on good terms with Spain – except for when they fought over Italy… They were brothers and it didn't take much to have a day full of smiles with the Iberian.  
And Prussia?  
Francis remembered that he had first seen Prussia on his wedding with Scotland. The Albino had claimed to be Ludwig's brother. But wouldn't they be brothers too? No… it was the same like with England. Francis and Ludwig were sharing Rome as a father. But Germania was the father (or mother?) of Ludwig, Prussia and England. No relation from France to the last two. But he didn't need that, did he?  
Why was Prussia now helping England? Where was his dignity? Hadn't he promised to remain one of France's helpers?

There had already been a time in which France had allied England… not so long ago. Funny. It had been a short alliance. Also, in these times he didn't get to see his alliance partners that much. Centuries ago, Alliances had been very valuable. Now, they became a heartless and quick thing.  
On the other hand there was no chance that he could become unfaithful again this way.  
When Scotland would return, Francis could proudly state that he had pulled through all of this time and remained loyal towards his first alliance partner.

In the end, France decided to discover that new island group. He simply sailed away, leaving the alliance with Austria to his king, his ministers and the commanders of the military forces in France.  
The island group was in the indian ocean, a few sea miles from the eastern coast of Africa.  
The sea way to there wasn't an easy one. France had to, once again, pass the Cape of good Hope, one of the most stormy places on earth. Often, ships looked wrecked afterwards. The Frenchman had also brought his son with him, as he wanted to show how such things worked out. How to claim a colony… or something. But the young man should know that he was nonetheless his son, no matter how adopted he was.  
The only strange thing for now was that Francis felt himself too young to have a son with this age. Matthieu would soon look the same age and be the same height, before Francis had even reached full adulthood. It didn't even happen rarely, that they were mistaken for each other at the French court.  
And yes, France's body was lingering around the age of 18, but still he was far from the full blossom of beauty he would reach… he wasn't real mature yet. But how was a nation supposed to know that?

Only with the help of Pierre, the Archipelago could be found. The isles were not yet drawn to a map and couldn't be found with the help of any compass. This was also a difficult task that had to be done over time. People from a lot of nations put effort in mapping the world, getting a better grasp upon the true size and shape of continents, nations, territory ever since the discovery of the new world.  
"It's … beautiful here. Like the Caribbean isles, but… more pretty.", Matthieu commented.  
"It just is flattering… my senses. But it's still wild. I'm a city … person.", France said, while looking around. "Okay. Today's task is to find a little girl. She'll be the only little girl around this place. And…when you find her, she'll be your daughter, my granddaughter. When I find her, you'll have another sister. C'est bon, c'est retenu?"  
"O-oui, Papa."  
"Alors, allons-y."

The two nations parted and looked around the main isle. It took a while and due to experience, Francis estimated what could be planted here and for what else the island could be used. The weather changed and a storm swept the isle they were housed. France still kept searching.  
Finally, he found the girl shivering in a smaller cave.  
"Viens… (come…).", the Frenchman held out his hand. The girl had pretty bid eyes and long black hair. She looked so fragile. "Viens, s'il te plaît. (Please, do come.)"  
Slowly, she reached out her hand. Francis dared to grab it as soon as possible, drawing the little body onto his own to warm her.  
It took a while til she stopped shivering and fighting against his embrace. But as soon as she had…she either had swooned or simply slept.

Through the storm, he took the child back to the French settlement the first 'inhabitants' had built. Inside it was cosy, warm and dry.  
"P-papa, J'étais tellement inquiet. Je pensais que vous étiez perdu. (I was so worried. I thought you were lost.)", Matthieu was wrapped in a blanket and had some hot tea in a cup. He ordered the others quickly to help Francis.  
"Je l'ai trouvée. (I found her.)", the older man smiled. "Et c'est peu de pluie n'a pas d'importance. C'est juste de l'eau. (And that bit of rain doesn't matter. It's just water.)"  
The blanket Francis was given to, he simply wrapped around the girl – who was naked anyway. So she would need it. It was a normal thing, since most natives in America, Africa and Australia were naked, or wore only less clothes. Except for when they were exposed to extreme cold, like the Inuit in northern Canada.  
"Je vais l'appeler… 'Les Seychelles'.", France said with a hint of solemn. "Son nom sera… Michelle Bonnefoi."


	43. Chapter 42

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

A little jealous was the Canadian over the little girl that suddenly drew so much attention from his 'father'. So much that Francis was thinking of himself lastly. If he didn't do anything about it, he would soon fade into the background again.  
On the other hand he was curious. He had seen the children of the king and of other nobles. …they grew very fast, but this… eh, Seychelles would grow very slowly, much like himself.  
"Can I hold her also?", Matthieu asked.  
"Oui.. you must, actually. But be careful, okay? Hold her like this…", the man spoke with a soft voice, laying the sleeping princess into Matthieus arms.  
Then Francis was free to get into some dry clothes as well. At the same time he looked if he could find an adequate dress for the girl. Usually, (Christian) nations were born with a white dress, but Seychelles had been found without any… possibly the girl had lost it long time ago. Yet, she was still a baby nation.

He found a nightgown of his own. It was too lengthy, so he cut it off. It had been linen, so it wasn't dramatic. Francis came back and together with the help of his son, they managed to dress the little girl up.  
"I hope she doesn't get the idea to undress herself and lose the dress eventually…"

When Seychelles regained her consciousness, it was the next morning and the weather was calm again.  
The French were sitting outside or were looking for food. The Seychelles had more fruit and vegetables than animals – compared to other places of the earth. But being an Archipelago, it offered Turtles, Tortoises and a huge variety of birds. The colonists however were quite happy to be there (as long as they didn't have to wear those nasty uniforms as they were too warm.).  
"You're awake?", Francis asked in French. He wanted the girl to learn French first instead of English (and admin is being lazy writing Fail-French all the time).  
The child answered with some animal like noises as she had have only animals for friends so far.  
"I will teach you my language in time. …But please stop shouting at me."

Matthieu helped a lot with teaching her French. Michelle was a fast learner, so after only one month she could already express herself on basic needs. Like when she needed food, drink or when she was sleepy. Also emotional needs were included. This was due to Francis being all caught up in her magic. She was such a cute little girl! Mhairi had been cute also, but she had been rather tomboyish. Mhairi was just the daughter of Alasdair – the manlier part of the relationship.  
Oh yea… What would Alasdair say to Michelle? Now she didn't resemble Francis nor Alasdair since she was geographically an African nation. Now to think about it… All of their children's names started with the letter M. So Alasdair just had to love her!

It was only until 1763, when Francis and Matthieu returned to the French court – along with little Michelle. Little did they know that the nation had made few successes during the war, but major losses!  
The king's minister briefly introduced Francis to the subject as soon as there was time – and told him that in the Treaty of Paris it had been agreed that France had to give up the colony New France.  
"WHY!?", the blonde Frenchman screamed.  
"His majesty has signed the Treaty. We have no use for New France anymore…It is now English territory."  
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!?"  
"Lower your voice, will you?", the minister said, treating the powerful nation as if it was a hot headed low ranked young soldier.  
"Are you out of your mind, mammute couilles? 'We have no use for New France'. Do you have any idea, what he is worth to me? I fucking DO need Matthieu! He is my only son! How dare you saying that you have no use for him? Why are you so selfish? And why the hell can't I even let you alone for to get more colonies?"  
"Silence!", the minister said again. "Your job is to get new colonies, yes. So we do not need the old ones that don't pay off. It is only a business."  
"And then sell it to England of all nations? England is our worst enemy! Have you slept in schooling, you fucking bitch?", France was more than ready to strangle the 'poor' man.

"Calmez. …There has been a peace treaty, which ended the war that has been running now for 7 years. In this treaty, we had to give up on Canada, but I have to tell you also, that we had to give Louisiana to Spain and we also lost the Indian locations and Senegambia (Senegal + Gambia) in Africa to Britain. We could maintain Haiti, St-Pierre and Miquelon; and in India we could keep Pondicherry and Karikal. …but we are not allowed to improve our settlements there. This is all due to the treaty we signed."

The French nation looked weary at the fat foreign minister. What a bastard. In his thoughts he already sent the ministers children to the wilderness of the deepest Africa, so the man would witness himself how it was to lose children.  
Moreover, with Canada, France had lost the leading power in terms of colonies.  
Francis ran back to his room where Matthieu had been busy with unpacking their things (with little help of Michelle) after the long voyage. As Francis arrived at the chamber, England was already there, dragging Canada out of the palace. At least England had thought of taking the lad's belongings with them (unlike with Scotland).  
"You abductor!", France screamed and ran after the two.  
„Abductor? I only take what already is mine. It is not my fault that you have to go missing for such an important war to pick up random girls."  
"You're such a horrid person! What have you done to Scotland?!"  
"MY brother is none of your concern. And I'd rather have you out of my way."  
The minister also popped up and ordered the guards to hold France down. The French kingdom would have nightmares from this over and over. The old wounds of when Alasdair had been taken away were ripped open once again.

Hope for France was on its way. And partly he had made it on his own. He had hacked off the right hand of the old minister for stealing Canada from France. The king didn't really care, but it wasn't that France was completely powerless. Furthermore, he took the job from the minister and had him and his wife living somewhere really poor. And as thought, he sent their children, two girls, to Africa for low cost.  
Alas, the job of the foreign minister was filled by the duke de Choiseul, who made reformations. He understood the need for revenge. A few years later, the French kingdom was able to annex Lorraine, and in the following year bought Corsica from Genoa. Corsica had changed owners a lot of times, but became French for good now.

Another hope was also on its way… in form of the most important Colony to England: New England. The young blonde man who resembled Canada to a certain level had gone to Versailles to talk to France, whom he barely remembered having met before.  
"Uhm… You are France, aren't you?", Alfred began, as he stood in the doorframe to Francis' chamber. The Frenchman had been lying on his bed, reading a book. With worn eyes, the older nation looked up. He had been crying often these times. Only Seychelles could cheer him up. He made it his personal duty to educate her in language, writing, reading and maths.  
"And you must be New England.. am I right? What is your desire?"

„It is England… he is wanting more and more taxes, and always so annoying prohibits. It's unbearable… my.. people want to split from the United Kingdom.", the boy's eyes wandered around in the older man's room. But it wasn't that he was curious. Well to some point he was, but then again he was unsure. His emotions were raging with the thought of betraying England, turning his back to him. He wasn't sure if he could really do it. Alfred only knew that he had to do it… for the sake of his own future. "I want independence."  
"Sounds… cool… and what's my business in there?"  
"I want you to help me."  
A malicious grin drew itself onto the Frenchman's face. He put the book away. "Mon fils… you just entered an open door."  
"Oh?", the blue eyes looked innocently onto the doorframe which he still hadn't crossed. He felt like he had done something wrong.  
"Don't worry. I meant it in a different way… more poetic. Please, do enter.", the Frenchman laughed wickedly.  
„Uh… okay."  
The boy laughed nervously and entered the room, took in the scent and slightly compared England to France. France was obviously female in his way…but it felt nice. Everything tidy, but not too stressed like with England.

"Do you have any plan to start or did you already start?"  
"We gathered people… and everything is still quite… under the hand. No one is talking openly. But I think things will escalate very soon. The people there like tea you know? And England introduced an extra fee on that. You know England for a very long time and I am sure you know his strategies."  
"That's right. Shall we go to your place? Just allow me to gather a few troops, and pack things."  
"So soon?"  
"Do you like to wait?"  
„…No."  
„Then, let's go.", France hurried with the preparations. At the same evening he already was with over 500 men on a ship that went to North America. Along with him were Alfred and Michelle.

A little after France had left, Louis XV. died from smallpox at the age of 64. His son had died nine years ago, so the 19 year old grandson became the new king of France. His name was Louis XVI.  
Louis XVI. had been a strong and healthy, a very intellectual child, but rather shy. Even after he had become the Dauphin, no one had prepared him to become the king. No one really ever cared about him. In 1770 he had married the youngest daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor Francis I., Marie Antoinette. Well, in 1770, the marriage had started – but fulfilled only in 1777. The king just had been too shy or not attracted by the one year younger queen.

Back in America, the Boston tea party had started the independence war between England and the young United States of America.  
Alfred was sure, with France on his side as an advisor, he just couldn't lose. On top of that, he already picked a name apart from Kirkland. He was very sure that he would become independent from the 'ever so annoying older brother'.  
But Alfred wasn't alone with his desire to split from the 'motherland' Great Britain. Secret gatherings were made, and soon Leading figures huddled into foreground.  
After the Boston tea party, in which the U.S. Americans had thrown the British tea into the Atlantic Ocean, the colonists got things straight by cutting off trading between Britain and America.  
Britain therefore called America an 'unreasonable child' and 'breakaway province'.  
In 1775, Patrick Henry held his speech 'give me liberty or give me death', in which he incited more Americans to raise against the British.

The next important steps were to get an own currency, and an own government. The currency was until then the British pound. England had prohibited America to have his own currency…After some Congresses, the leading people of this 'revolution' agreed onto the 'continental dollar', a pre-form of the nowadays 'U.S.-Dollar'.  
As for the government, the central figures were the seven 'founding fathers': George Washington, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison.

From the 19th of April 1775, the first smaller battles of the American Militia against British troops started. This was the Begin of the Independence war.  
For then, the position of the ca. 2,5 million rebellious settlers was not convenient. They were not prepared a financial or in a military way.  
George Washington, a landowner in Virginia, received in the same summer the command over 15000 men strong group of Militia, from everywhere in New England. They were called the 'continental army'.

On the opponent's side were next to the British Troops over 30 000 mercenaries from german states, mainly 'Hessen-Kassel'. Due to this, the mercenaries were often called 'Hessians' in later historical descriptions.  
The U.S.-American troops tried to regain Canada, but failed to take the northern nation after the battle of Québec in December 1775. The Americans didn't try a second time to attack Canada.  
On July 4th 1776, the 13 rebellious States declared their Indipendence.

"Lighten up, Alfred.", Francis said in a soft tone and sat to down next to his friend. Francis had made a little party for his new prodigy. "This is your birthday. Today, you are really born as a nation. You have become your own self. You're not New England anymore."  
"Y-you're right. I still can't believe I did it. …But I am sure, England won't remain silent at this. Haha, I can imagine him crying already.", said Alfred F. Jones. He was mostly called America now, rather than New England, and also despite him being 'only' the United States of America, instead of America itself. It was quite iconic.  
"Mhm… You should know that if you still have problems, you can always ask me for advice. I don't think England has ever taught you how it is to be a nation. What did he teach you?"  
Alfred didn't know how to answer this. When he thought about it from this perspective, he felt like he had been much more like a doll to his older brother… To dress up and for tea times, nothing more. The young nation felt humiliated by the very thought. Even more enraged was his lust for to show England his place. He could no longer harm him.

And France? The nation supported him for 2 years now. He didn't seem as clingy or possessive as assumed.  
"Joyeux anniversaire, mon petit…"  
"Eh…thanks. Whatever this was."  
"'Happy Birthday' in your language. …Do you know your uncle Scotland?"  
"I have seen him a few times. But right now, England is keeping him somewhere… why?"  
"He is my husband."  
"Eeehh? You are gay?", Alfred retreated from the Frenchman.  
"… /He/ is my husband.", Francis emphasized. "We used to have an alliance.. or still have one, thus are married to each other. It is not about being gay or not gay. I love this person, and not this gender, you see?"  
"…Do you know why he is keeping your husband away from you or anyone, then?"  
"Not really… I miss him badly. England also took Canada away from me as you might have noticed. He was a son to me. .. It's all so sad. So.. this alliance towards you is some kind of relieve. It's a lower motive that brings us together, but does it really matter? I guess you'd be glad if I left after we have done this."

"You want independence, right? That means independence from all states. I can't have you being my new colony in turn for Canada."  
"Yes."  
"That means I'll have to leave after this thing."

Alfred put on a sour face. He didn't exactly want France to leave like this. He couldn't tell but felt bad about using the older nation. But he also figured that they used each other for the same principle: to hurt England. America, because he wanted freedom. France, because he simply wanted England to feel how it was to lose someone important.  
France wondered then, how important America was to the British nation. Was it only a colony to use or did the blonde really have any feelings towards America?


	44. Chapter 43

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Long battles, a lot of battles, led to the final victory for the young Americans on the rainy field in 1781.  
The British Lord Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown to American and French allies. Arthur Kirkland sat in the mud, with an empty shotgun, crying heavily and rocking himself like a pathetic baby.  
"…You used to be so big.", Alfred said with a small voice. An unusual voice, and he would find himself stupid for being like that later. But for now it was alright. He just stared at his older brother. This view was so very much unknown to him.

France was staring at the same scene, but from far away. He felt like being a senior soldier and therefore preferred to sit beneath an umbrella during this rain. His soldiers had fought nonetheless. The battle was decided.  
The Frenchman was satisfied at the look that England was giving him. Moreover so, because he hadn't influenced America in the least, so Alfred wouldn't even go back to England after some time had passed. Alfred's decision was forever. They wouldn't remain friends.  
There had been a time in which Francis would have shared those tears. Would have pitied the blonde with the thick eyebrows. But there had been too much hurt connected now. There was too much the 'innocent looking' Brit had taken away. France had begged, cried and the Brit had remained cold hearted, multiple times.  
England now deserved to pity himself in his loneliness. The point was that no one liked him because he deserved it. He hadn't earned it with being generous or social.

As a result from this war, a new treaty of Paris was made. France didn't receive Canada back, but Senegal and Tobago. And Spain received back Florida.  
The war had largely been a disappointment and a financial disaster for the Kingdom of France. But for Francis, there had been events of which money just couldn't buy. To him, it was worth it.

The following years in Europe had been overshadowed by huge famines. In Scotland alone, another one had started out of nowhere. But then suddenly, like a giant curse, white mist cloaked the western and central portion of Europe. The mist had descended from the Icelandic volcano called 'Laki' that erupted in 1783. Almost a whole year, the volcano spat out lava, ashes and this smoke / mist. Over 120 million tons of sulphur dioxide was released into the air. Half of the population of Iceland was killed during that process.  
The summer of 1783 was the hottest on record. The temperature shifted dramatically, causing a rare high pressure zone over Iceland and blew the winds south-east onto the continent. The poisonous cloud drifted to Bergen in Denmark-Norway, then spread to Prague, in Bohemia (Czech republic nowadays), and soon also covered Germany, France and Great Britain.  
The fog was so thick that boats couldn't navigate. The sun was described as 'blood coloured'.

On the continent, the people went crazy over this thick, white haze. The air smelled of sulphur and the people died away just like that, poisoned from the inside. The priests and bishops of the Catholic church went around, accusing various people of having summoned this curse. More witches and wizards were burnt during that time, though we all know today that all of this was nonsense.  
No one really knew why the volcano had erupted all of the sudden, and first they also didn't even know that it had been a volcano.  
Another cause of the Laki-Mist was the weather to become even hotter, causing severe thunderstorms with large hailstones, that were large enough to kill cattle, and of course, smaller animals. Not to mention that the harvest was ruined.

The winter 1783 was the extreme contrast to the very hot summer. The frost took the last of the remaining population of the western and central European nations. In the following spring, these nations reported huge damaged due to severe floods.  
But still, the dramatic causes of the Laki eruption continued, not letting the people recover. The weather continued in its extremes. The summers saw heavy drought and the winters violent hailstorms. Especially France was hit hard with these consequences.  
This eruption had been the worst in the last 2000 years.

Francis was sitting in his chamber in Versailles and looked out into the misty gardens of the palace. His harvest had been destroyed as well. The seeds Scotland had given to him. But not all. France had happened to kept some of them. For safety. Or because he had been lazy. But now it was all worth it. Now, only the weather had to regain stability. When would the sun be normal again? The blonde sighed.  
It really seemed like the last judgment.  
Now in the past years he sure had lost a lot of weight. With every life in his kingdom that died, he also died a little. He shared the average weight of the greater portion of his people. When they starved, he looked like he starved as well, though he would eat normally.  
It had been all the same with Alasdair.  
Francis knew that the Scotsman was now experiencing the very same again. Scotland had a famine right before the Union – which possibly had caused the Union after all. The Scottish would not have unified with the English if it hadn't been a necessity. The question came upon if the Scottish would depart, if they were feeling better… But that would be a different matter.

For now, all of them were starving. No one had been prepared for what had come upon them. No one had seen the Laki-Mist coming.  
Francis sighed once again. Seychelles was still here. He didn't wish for that now. The girl would have been off better without him. She should not starve here in hideous Europe, nor see how people became when they were not having any food: greedy, selfish, ugly.  
Really now, even Francis was seeing his own bones through his skin. He had seen that on Alasdair when he had been at this time. It didn't feel as bad as it looked, though. The Frenchman at least had gotten used to it.  
Luckily, Michelle (Seychelles) didn't look like that. She looked like a healthy child.  
More of a reason for Francis to keep her locked in Matthieu's old room. The people shouldn't see her, for they would accuse her for all their misery. It wasn't Michelle's fault for not becoming anorexic.  
And sending her back to her Archipelago? It was impossible. Still, the ships couldn't navigate through the Atlantic. And the land way was way too dangerous.  
The girl would have to wait.

"I'm sorry, petite."  
"It's okay, Papa. …Can you make my doll another dress?", she asked through the half closed door. He had talked to her about that matter. And when no one was able to enter Francis' room, she was also allowed to come out.  
"Of course, ma chérie. Do you have a colour preference?", the man stood up and looked in a chest for any fabric remnants.

Eventually, the Laki-Mist dissolved. It was like someone lifted the pure white, and also a bit frightening, linen tablecloth from the table – to release the view onto a massacre. Only by then the disaster was fully visible. The people had practically nothing to eat. And France was highly indebted. The war in America and the bad harvests and loss of edible animals had been just too much.  
At the same time, the French lower classes felt like their royals and clergymen had led a very good life indeed.  
And even the Kingdom itself had to agree that on Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette he couldn't see any signs of starvation.

However, for now, the king tried to solve the government's worsening financial situation. He started off by planning on making a new land tax that would include a tax on the property of nobles and clergy. The assembly didn't approve the tax and demanded that the king called the 'Estates-General'… which the king also did.

While the third Estate, the simple people that made up 98% of France's population, demanded and was granted 'double representation', so as to balance the First and Second Estate, voting was to occur 'by orders', effectively cancelling the double representation. This led to the Third Estate breaking away from the Estates-General and, joined by members of the other Estates, proclaiming the creation of the 'National Assembly', an assembly not of the Estates, but of 'the people'.  
In an attempt to regain control and to prevent the Assembly from convening, Louis XVI. ordered the closure of the 'Salle des États' (Room of States), where the Assembly met.  
Then, the Assembly met on the Tennis Court Oath instead, where they swore to never separate, and to meet wherever circumstances demand, until the constitution of the kingdom would be established and affirmed on solid foundations.  
The assembly was joined also by sympathetic members of the second and first estates – nobles and clergy.  
Francis had also been among them, as he became interested in changing the situation himself. A thing, a nation not usually did. A nation would fight with other nations for the sake of the government, but was not allowed to control the directions of the inner politics…

A few days later, the king invited his nation for a talk.  
"So, Monsieur Bonnefoy, you have been on the meeting of the assembly? Would you tell me something about it? What did you do there?", Louis XVI. said, with a frown on his forehead.  
"I can't tell you anything about it. The assembly swore to not tell their motives. And I agree on this… The point is, that they want to make a change. It's obvious with how things are. People starve, they die on the streets. Have you not seen that?"  
"Non, it must have slipped my mind. Then… if you cannot remember any of the terms the assembly talked about, I beg that you will tell me in future time what they are up to."  
"I will do no such thing?", now it was Francis' turn to frown.  
"You will. It is an order from your king. Don't you see that they might overthrow me?"  
"And don't /you/ see that I am the nation and do what I want? I am not your spy. If you seek someone, look for an assassin or the such. There are streams within the realm that I am not supposed to interfere. If it is your fate to lose your throne, so be it."  
"…I see. I thought you were rebelling as well. But when you are not for me, then you're against me. That's a rebellious act, right?"  
"It's not. If there are rebellious acts from the people, then it is because you are incompetent as a ruler."  
"Then you admit that they are preparing a rebellion?", the king asked.  
"I didn't say that."

Then Louis changed the subject.  
"… did you know that my queen finds you ugly by now?"  
"…", no one had ever said such a thing to Francis.  
"But I keep on sending you so much food. Don't tell me you wasted it… but you kept losing weight. How can this be? Are you having a secret alliance with the poorer Estate of France?"  
"…", the nation was speechless at this stupidity and wrecking his brain for the right words. "What kind of question are these?! I have no alliance with them, I AM them! I represent /all/ people of France! They are my children! Not only the king, though all of you Bourbon kings have called yourselves 'fils de France'….When my children starve, I also do. Seriously, your great grandfather Louis Quatorze would be highly disappointed if he saw what kind of a king you are! I admit that the Revolution war and the Laki-Mist were really disastrous, but you as a king should have foreseen any of that. There had been catastrophes at the sun king's time also, and he mastered all of them!"  
"I don't want to hear such thing… "  
"You can't run away from your kinghood forever! And even now you are just a marionette of someone else's will! Can't you say nothing yourself?!"  
"I don't want to hear such thing…", the king repeated. "Guards!"

Two guards appeared and kicked the French Kingdom out of the palace. Francis was forbidden to even step in there from now on.  
"You can't do that! You filthy king! You don't deserve that crown!"  
With nothing left but the clothes he wore, the blonde slowly made his way back to Paris. He wondered if he could go to another palace. Somewhere, where they didn't know yet that he had been banned from 'royal belongings'.  
But soon after the king had spoken the ban, he had send out messengers and messenger birds to tell everyone that Francis was no longer allowed anywhere. The people in charge agreed all too well. No one wanted to see the 'scarecrow' person.

"This is the worst day ever…", Francis mumbled. He had been spoiled the past years. He had always known where to sleep and where his next meal was. But moreover he was annoyed over this incompetent king!  
As he walked through Paris, he saw riots, anarchy, angry people… and then he was robbed himself from his jacket and shoes. Of course he had always worn finest garments and now he was losing them. The poor people just thought if they would sell them, they would get more money, which meant more food.  
Francis wasn't exactly blaming them, but sooner or later he would end up naked… luckily it was summer.  
The blonde wondered once again, if Alasdair was going through the same dilemma. …then he facepalmed.  
"Michelle… I forgot Michelle! Oh no! She is still waiting for me I bet. Damnit!", the Frenchman quickly looked around, then hid somewhere to call Pierre. The angry mobs might find the white dove edible. The bird was supposed to not be eaten. Even if France was hungry, he would never do such a thing.

The night, the Frenchman spent hungrily under the Pont Neuf. This bridge (pont = bridge) was usually the place in which the lawless people met. The robbers, murderers… in the end they also only wanted to live. It was raining and the whole lot sought shelter under the bridge.  
The people stared at the newcomer and soon gathered around him.  
"Where are you from?"  
"Yea, where from?"  
Those people talked in a slang which depicted their life as it was free from rules. The only rule they would obey was the one of the stronger one. Francis remained silent. Either he was caught up with the whole situation that the king and his companions ruined the state, then he was fed up over his own stupidity.

More dark creatures gathered around the slim, young looking Frenchman. The loss of weight had made him older, but he still had not a single mature hair on his body.  
"Is it a woman?"  
"A wo-woman? Haha, He has no boobs, see? It's a guy!"  
"hands off.", another figure said. "He looks like a noble. If you touch them, they will kill you."  
"Meh… but he is on our territory. It's his own fault! But who does he belong to?"  
"To our queen? Our queen would like him."  
"To our queen!"  
"To our queen…"

The creatures were humans that were partly mutilated or simply ragged. The most poor of the poor - professional survivors in the city of night. Human rats.  
The queen of the rats was living in an abandoned tower somewhere on the edge of the large city. She was indeed ruling and looking quite well for her status. Being the highest authority among the lowlifes of the city made her a middle class person. She wasn't wealthy, yet had everything she needed. She was also rather bony from starvation, but her dresses looked fine. She was a beautiful brunette in her early 20s or late teens (imagine 1P Fem!France).  
"Bonsoir, mon chéri.", she greeted him courtly. "Did my people pick you up from the street?"  
Francis gave her an empty stare.  
"Don't be frightened. I won't harm you. Why don't you come over to sit with me?"

The room she was living in was the top of the tower. The young woman was sitting on a quite huge bed – the bed sheets were made from all kinds of old clothes and fabric. Nothing really fitted together and the state of the garments was torn or moth-eaten.  
The other pieces of furniture that were situated in this circular room were also gathered from everywhere and in a rather bad shape. Of course, there was no hygiene, no toilet there. Francis felt very uneasy as he snapped back to reality. He was only wearing a torn garment around his hips.

"You don't look like you ever worked really hard.. then again… let me see your hands."  
Francis cleared his throat. "Are you a palm reader?"  
"…Kind of.", she gave him a cheeky smile and patted the place next to her for him to sit down. She gently took his hand as he sat. Francis felt a tingle on his skin as they made contact. There was something about her hands. The man tried to cover his emotions behind his face.  
"Shh, don't be scared.", she repeated. "I won't bite.

An apparently endless period of time flew by between them. It became awkward. First, she had only held his hand, the inside of his palm upwards so she would read in there. The life line, heart line and whatnot... Then she trailed towards his arm with her determined fingertips. Francis felt more and more uneasy with the tingling on his skin. Inside his body was a warning that he should run away. The man withdrew his hand.  
"Please… don't do that. I don't even know your name.", the irritated Frenchman said, staring at the pretty carefree girl.  
"I am Francine… and you?", she gently said.  
"…Francis.", what a strange coincidence, that they kind of shared their first name.  
"Most people call me 'Queen'. Perhaps it is because I do care about them and they respect me for it. When they are truly hurt I either talk to them or tread them. This place here is called the 'Court of Wonders'. The people here are professional beggars and thieves. The mutilated people you have seen are not really mutilated. Most of them just become normal people when they are here. They can walk and see again."  
"…so?"  
"Oui. ..And you need something to wear.", she giggled and tossed Francis some of the worn-out garments. She mentioned that even then he looked like a prince.

"Like a prince…", Francis murmured. Scotland had always called him 'wee prince' – little prince.  
"Yes. .. but, my prince, your future isn't … ", she bit her lips in loss of words. "In your close future, a massive change will happen. And it also concerns all the people… all the people around you? I don't understand your palm. It's different from others. Your body too…"  
"Is that really a surprise to you? I'm sorry if I insult your abilities to palm-reading… but with how things are, things are bound to change. The royalty, the nobles are lethargic. And the normal people of France are about to make a difference. Their lust for food and wealth is increasing by the minute. They will… they might overthrow their government.", the young man assumed. He didn't have to be a fortune teller to be able to make such a suggestion. Then he wondered what such a rebellion would make out of him. Would he die? There had been always riots inside his kingdom. Women fighting against men, children fighting against their parents, Huguenots fighting against Papists - the odds would always clash against each other.

"I guess you're right.", Francine said with a sad smile. "Uhm.. here at the Court of Wonders, we don't ask people where they come from. Who they are… you might very well feel welcome here among us."  
"Merci, Madame."  
"Mademoiselle. I am not a Madame yet."  
"Mademoiselle…", he corrected himself.

The night had been restless. In the bed of the queen, the 'little prince' tossed and turned and couldn't find a proper position. This place was his of course… he was the nation. But still the room was full of unknown noises and smells. And not even pleasant and inviting ones. It wasn't his place in the term of not being to his likes.  
He /was/ France. All of it, so he claimed… yet, Francis had turned to be some kind of nobleman himself. A prince, he was. Spoiled and meant to rule the world someday. He was used to shine, glamour and sterile clean rooms.

After a couple of days, word got around that the simple people, from middle class to very poor would gather to seize the Bastille prison. This very old building, consisting of eight towers and an inner yard had been used to discipline criminals – simple criminals like thieves, robbers – murderers and even political enemies within or without the kingdom. This building had been in usage ever since the hundred years war. Since Louis XIII. it had served as a symbol of royal tyranny.

The people of Paris saw in the Bastille only a depot for weapons of any kind and their aim was to get their hands onto them! It was July the 14th of 1789 on which the people gathered in an angry mob and stood before the Bastille. As the royal leadership essential had abandoned the city, the mobs soon had the support of the French Guard, including arms and trained soldiers. They managed to kill the governor and several of his guards in the process, before they could then succeed to free the prisoners and grab some weaponry.

On the very same day, Francis hadn't been able to move anymore. A sudden fever had undergone his body and made him weak. Francine had gone to help the riot instead of caring for her new guest. She had thought that Francis would be strong enough to survive until nightfall when the riot had pulled through…  
Well, nightfall came and the mob was celebrating their little victory at the bastille.  
Francis was feeling more terrible than ever. He had felt the rage of the people bashing against the door of the bastille. Sweat drenched the old clothes that covered the older bed the Frenchman was lying on.  
Suddenly out of the blue, he felt a tiny pair of hands on his forehead. "W-who…?"  
"Du calme, Papa…", Michelle hummed. She felt her father relax under her hands. "I have come to save you…"

Father and daughter managed to leave the 'Tower of Wonders' unseen. Seychelles had sold most of the gold and jewellery Francis did have in his chest. The gold Scotland had gifted him. Some pretty pieces had been reserved – Seychelles had considered that. With the money or the gold itself she bought an apartment somewhere in the middle class department in northern Paris – Montmartre. The seller of the apartment had been mistrusting first, but the gold had spoken very loud words.  
Francis didn't ask his daughter for the cause of all of it. His vision was blurry and he couldn't even tell if the ground was solid or liquid. The fever rose to no end.  
In the apartment was a proper bed, a little kitchen and even a very primitive bathroom. Everything Michelle needed to treat her sick father.


	45. Chapter 44

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

After the mob of Paris had gained control over the Bastille and its arsenal it was time to head for the head of the state, the king Louis XVI..  
The Marquis de Lafayette, Gilbert du Motier, a French hero of the War of American Independence, took command of the National Guard, and the king was forced to recognise the new Tricoleur Cockade (a kind of badge made from fabric. Usually worn on the hat.). Although peace was made, several nobles did not regard the new order as acceptable and emigrated into neighbouring kingdoms in order to push the government of these kingdoms to war against the new democratic regime in France.  
This state of instability turned into the 'Great Fear' of several weeks in July and August 1789, it was a violent class conflict.

Francis, at the same time, was having a really hard time in the apartment in which Seychelles tried to treat him, help him back into the state of health. Despite it being summer, the blonde was having serious issues of coldness. It was so much that he even literally froze on the inside.

The Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen was adopted by the National Assembly in August, as a first step in their effort to write a constitution. Surprisingly it not only dealt with main rights of every citizen of France, equalizing their rights (Freedom, Liberty and Equality) – it also held rights about women. It was the first time, women had an equal value to the men. Same went for Slavery. It was simply abandoned, as well as the rule of the Estates, as they were coming in conflict with the law of equality.  
Influenced by the doctrine of natural rights, birthrights, these rights were deemed universal and valid in all times and places, pertaining to human nature itself.  
The Assembly also replaced France's historic provinces with eighty-three departments, uniformly administered and approximately equal to one another in extent and population.

On 4 August 1789, the Assembly abolished feudalism, in what became known as the August Decrees, sweeping away both the seigneurial rights of the second Estate (nobility) and the tithes gathered by the First Estate (clergy). In the course of a few hours, nobles, clergy, towns, provinces, companies and cities lost their special privileges, which they had built up over centuries and perhaps even longer time than that.  
Furthermore, the Assembly abolished the symbolic paraphernalia of the Ancien Régime – armorial bearings, liveries, etc…. clothes and the likes that symbolised the belonging of a person to the household of a noble – the abolishment alienated the more conservative nobles.  
The next approach the Assembly dared to make was on the judicial field. First of all, the magistracies became independent to the throne. The legislators abolished hereditary offices, except for the monarchy itself. Jury trials started for criminal cases – before that, criminals were simply thrown into the bastille before even getting the right for a trial.  
Furthermore only the king had the right to declare war.  
The Assembly abolished all internal trade barriers and suppressed guilds, master ships and worker's organisations. Consequently, an individual could only gain the right to practice trade through the purchase of a license and worker strikes became illegal.

The Revolution brought about a massive shifting of powers from the Roman Catholic Church to the state. The Church had been the largest landowner in the country so far, but now this right on the taxes on crops was abolished. The financial crisis was addressed essentially as the Assembly took over the property of the Church.

During all of these new rules and change of rules, Francis had been twisting and turning in an almost abnormal way. Sometimes even several veins broke open, mostly on the arms, and caused the bed sheets to turn red. For Seychelles it had been an almost traumatic time. If she hadn't known where it all came from, she would have said that the man was possessed by evil spirits!  
But as the financial crisis was mastered by the Assembly, the French nation recovered a whole lot. He was able to eat and sleep normally at least. The fever subsided.  
"M-michelle… do you think I am dying?", he asked with a raspy voice and tired eyes.  
"Non.. I don't think so.", she said. She was lying because on some parts she had been really scared. But she remained loyal at his side. "Everything will be okay."  
"…You're such a good girl. I promise you, I will reward you… a lot.. when this is all over. But you might be right… I won't die. .. if I would, Écosse would be here. He would be here…", tears streamed from his eyes. He just couldn't take it anymore.  
Michelle gently wiped them away with a clean cloth.

In October 1789, a mob attacked the royal palace at Versailles, forcing the royal family to move 'back' to the Tuileries Palace in Paris. Marie Antoinette unwillingly let the 'Hameau' behind her. There had been a little idealised farm village just build for her close to the huge palace. Marie Antoinette had been a child of the Austrian countryside. And since she felt so very foreign in Versailles Palace, the king had built the 'Hameau de la Reine' for her.  
Some years later, in June 1791, the royal family secretly fled Paris in disguise for Varennes near France's north-eastern border in order to seek royalist support the king believed he could trust, but they were soon discovered on their way. The family was brought back to Paris, after which they were kept under house-arrest at the Tuileries.

Then, even the Assembly split into several parties – some representing extreme view, the National Party. Most of the Assembly members wanted to have the state's government build after the British system: with a king as the figurehead and a parliament. The king had to share power with the elected legislative assembly, although he still retained his royal veto and the ability to select ministers. He had perforce to swear an oath on the constitution and a decree declared that retracting the oath, heading an army for the purpose of making war upon the nation, or permitting anyone to do so in his name would amount to de facto abdication.  
The legislative Assembly first met on October 1st 1791 and degenerated into chaos in less than a year.

From outside, the Holy Roman Emperor Leopold II. and the Prussian King Friedrich II. wanted to threaten the French Assembly into a war. But instead of being cooled down, they just became more angry. The borders were militarized as a consequence.  
Eventually, in early autumn of 1791, the Assembly agreed on a constitutional monarchy. As one of the first acts Louis XVI. declared war on Austria, to improve his popularity, which started the long French Revolution Wars. In these wars, the Holy Roman Empire, Prussia, Great Britain, Russia, French Royalists and Counter-Revolutionaries, Spain, Portugal, Sardinia, Naples and other Italian States, the Ottoman Empire, the Dutch republic, Haiti and the United States fought against the French Republic, French satellite States, the Society of United Irishmen, Polish Legion, Denmark and Norway and the Kingdom of Mysore (South India).  
On the night of the 10 August, the Jacobins, who had mainly opposed the war, suspended the monarchy. With the Prussian army entering France, more doubts were raised against the aristocracy and these tensions climaxed during the September Massacres.

The September massacres were one of the darker phases in the French Revolution. As the Prussian and Austrian armies entered France, the people wanted revenge on the Revolutionaries. Additionally, the minister of Justice Danton, the publisher Marat and the poet d'Églantine had infuriated the mood.  
The people were in a mass hysteria: a larger group of people stormed the jails. In a blind rage, the Revolution's opponents – and then also the other prisoners– fell under this massacre! It had been over 1200 victims at once, countless priests along with them, just because they had not accepted the republican constitution. Two thirds of the prisoners had not been political prisoners, but had been sitting because of other deeds: thievery or murder, or even smaller crimes.  
According to history, it is told that the women had torn out the hearts of the aristocratic prisoners.  
Alas, 90% of the murders were in Paris, the rest in the rest of France. So the chance of that happening in a French village was rare.

On 21 September of 1792, the French First Republic was proclaimed, after the victory in the Battle of Valmy. Along with the First Republic, a new Calendar – the French Republican Calendar was then legally enforced.

Feeling new-born, Francis woke one morning surprisingly. He wasn't experiencing pain exactly. His body was still worn and there were still thick bandages here and there. He was feeling well enough to get up on his own will.  
The air was crispy cold. There were frost flowers decorating the window panes on the house. Everything looked quite peaceful…  
Michelle wasn't at his side. What had happened? Perhaps she was in the other room… no? Then, she was out to purchase groceries and hadn't written a note since she hadn't believed that Francis would wake up during that. To be honest, the blonde hadn't thought so himself.  
He felt bad now for giving the girl so much trouble.  
She was only a child and had to take care of her father so much… she had to see how he had twisted and spat blood. Nothing to wish for a little girl to see. Poor girl, Francis thought. There would be nothing to make it even.

Where was he? He hadn't put on many clothes. In fact he walked bare foot outside onto the freshly fallen snow. He didn't feel the cold. It was late January in 1793.  
Francis walked for quite a while and he felt like a lily pad washed down by some river, other people walked by, took him eventually into their crowd, before a scaffold.  
The people around him shouted in anger, others laughed, and some only watched in anticipation.  
A lonely figure was standing on the scaffold. The person bent over… a heavy blade fell and parted head and body. The king was dead and the crowd rejoiced.

Francis' brain had been too numb to even comprehend what had happened. Slowly he walked to where he thought he had come from. Another figure parted from the crowd and grabbed him hard, yanking him almost to the ground.  
"What are you doing here outside? Since when are you here?", the angry voice of a girl shouted. Michelle was carrying a basket with the goods she had purchased. She was wearing an appropriate dress and a shawl and cap to cover her even more for it was a cold winter. "Damn, if I had known that, I would have written a note. You shouldn't be here! Come, Father!"  
"…suis désolé."

The Montagnards (La Montagne = French: The Mountain) were one of the most radical and dangerous factions among the National convention. They initially had been Jacobins, and as they were really determined, they managed to hold the most power in the chaotic time of the French Republic. Sided with Parisian militants, also known as 'sans-culottes' (culottes = short pants; the sans-culottes had long pants), they aimed for a more repressive form of government that would institute a price maximum on essential consumer goods and would punish all traitors and enemies of the Republic – and those who were believed to be traitors and enemies.  
The Montagnards regarded themselves as the true patriots of the French Revolution. During their reign between 1793 and 1794, they had over 302 members. Its leaders included Maximilien Robespierre, Jean-Paul Marat and Georges Danton. Under the Montagnards, France experienced a Reign of Terror.  
One of their first plans had been the September Massacres and the Trial of Louis XVI.

"Seriously, what was on your mind?", Seychelles repeated as she took off her cap and shawl and dropped both on an old chair near the entrance door. Their apartment was still rather poorly furnished, and also the tapestry on the walls was falling off. Seychelles had been bearing the household all on her own when they moved in here. She sure had a lot of gold to pay, but with the inflation, even gold became worthless as it was inedible. She had to gain contacts, people that would help her in every single step.  
By now the girl had learned the hard way to survive. To cook, to wash clothes, dishes and to take care of a sick adult. She had also tried herself on cleaning, but since the apartments' quality was so poor, she soon had given up. It was not like it was worth the time – she put her efforts in caring about her father and hoping he soon would be healthy enough to help her bear that burden. Alas, during that procedure she had toughened up. Michelle had become a strong and determined, and possibly a bit foul mouthed girl.  
"I don't know…What happened? The king got killed… by commoners.", the blue eyes still looked somewhat zoned out.

"… You really have been out.", she looked at Francis for a moment, then continued to pack away the groceries, some into the fridge, some into other cupboards. The fridge was a cupboard with an extra shelf for an ice-block. The ice-blocks were given by special ice-traders that would roam the streets once a week. This service had been possibly for one or two centuries now. She slowly began to tell Francis about the past years this land had been through.

"…So, it is a republic now?", the blonde stupidly asked, thinking of the consequences himself. Now, wouldn't that mean that he was stable, safe now? There was two possibilities: One; he was now a normal human being and waiting for his midlife crisis and soon death – and another person beside him had become the Republic. Two; he had become the 'Republique Française' now.  
"Yes… well.. the king has refused to agree with the Montagne guys. And therefore they put him on a trial the king could not win."  
"So he died because he was a king… I guess. ..What about Marie Antoinette and her children?"  
"They're still alive. They might be put on trial also soon. I wonder if the Montagne will be also after you. It depends on if your name is on documents of the king and the kings before that."  
"I can't tell… to be honest. I am not the kind who interfered in that.", Francis condemned himself for being so… so blonde! "But I doubt that, since I had never been granted land or a vote or something. The royal family only gave me what they would have given a knight: a room, some clothes and a horse. …And food."  
"Are you hungry?", she smiled. She was actually happy now that her Papa was back. She also noticed that his mind was working itself up 'back to normal speed'.  
"Oui…A bit.", he shyly smiled.


	46. Chapter 45

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The Following weeks were drawn by further massacres of people from radical groups within or among the Montagnards, and their sister-group the Girondins. They would just be around on killing-sprees, murdering normal people beside political enemies and counter-revolutionaries condemned by the Montagnards. No one took action on stopping them.

Francis had a plan, that they should defend themselves better and that they should be getting some of the stuff from Versailles, before other thieves took it.  
He had been wondering how Seychelles had managed to get through all of these troubles. She claimed to be able to defend herself with a smaller dagger or a kitchen knife. But the Frenchman insisted that this was nonsense. Even the sharpest blade couldn't help if it was guided by soft and 'weak' hands. He wasn't actually a Misogynist (Anti-Feminist), but he was certainly in the opinion that a man should guard a woman or child and not the other way around.  
"It's not your fault for not having a choice.", Francis said.

In one of the following nights, they masqueraded themselves with white clothes and hurried towards the palace of Versailles.  
"I have been hiding various stuff of which you can't know.. but I want them to be with me."  
"I see…", she whispered. Then they approached the snow covered Gardens of Versailles that framed the Palace. From here, Francis could see the small artificial farmvillage that had been created for Marie Antoinette. Single Guards were walking lazily in front of the Palace. Since it was snowy, they hardly had to fear thieves that would come unseen.  
"This is why I had us wearing white clothes, unlike most thieves.", Francis said and put on the white hood. His daughter did the same and slowly they approached the palace.

They walked past the sleepy guards unseen. Through the secret passageway of which only the actual king – and the nation – knew, they strode right through the palace with its many rooms and long hallways.  
Eventually, they ended up in Francis' old chamber. Everything was just like they had left it. …well more or less. 'Like Seychelles had left it', as she had been the last person living here.  
"It's kind of creepy.", Francis murmured, scanning the room. He soon found some items to put into his white bag. Valuable items, items he connected with his long lost lover Scotland. For a moment had been sunk into the memories he had of the redhead. His eyes were full of tears when he snapped back to reality.  
"Dieu.. what am I doing…?"  
"Papa, shall we get the crown jewels?"  
"Only, if they're here.", he whispered back. Then he took out the sacred/cursed sword from its hiding spot. The sword he had gotten from Jeanne.

Together, the two nations silently dashed through the palace. Now they didn't need the secret passage anymore, the Frenchman had told her. Even if the Guards would recognise their movement inside the palace, they could defend themselves.  
They searched the whole Palace but could not find the crown jewels. They had been brought to a museum in Paris.  
Both cursed violently beneath their breaths, then decided to take the remaining jewels from what the queen had left behind. The king never had that much.  
There had been a time in which Marie Antoinette had literally 'wasted' her time in buying expensive jewellery and other decorative items and dresses… everything just because she was bored and no one could help her. To be honest, Francis had to admit that the queen of France never had an exciting life as her only purpose was to bear children for the king and the nation. The blonde nation felt ashamed at this thought and wondered if he had remained a kingdom if he had provided the queens more rights.

In another night, Daughter and Father managed to steal the Crown Jewels of France – along with the hugest diamond ever seen in history.  
Later, a mysterious blue diamond would appear in English history. It would be called the 'Hope Diamond'. People claim that it was the same as Louis XIV.'s diamond, but in real it wasn't. However, no one could proof that it was a different one.

"It appears, that the Royalist and the Republican France are still in fight with each other… I, as the nation have the feeling that the greater portion turned to be Republican as it holds hope and future for the simple French people. If the Royalists are dying, I don't share their pain as much anymore… though I still have to say that it hurts. With Louis XVI.'s death, resistance against the new era has become in vain. When you would be my king, my highest commander, what would you recommend me to do?", France said, walking around and finally putting on the crown of the king of France onto Seychelles' head. It had a symbolic meaning. "Shall I go outside my home country and wait for it to be all over? Shall I interfere? Shall I accompany the Montagne around Robespierre?"

"That's a very difficult question. And a heavy crown.", she said while managing to keep the balance of her 'headgear'. Michelle thought for a while. "I'd say it is a stupid idea to go to Robespierre. I hear that he and the people around him are randomly killing people…it's just too dangerous to be close to him. And interfering? We're only two people."  
"Then we are supposed to go outside. But which way? North to the British Isles, West to the new continent, South to Africa… perhaps your Archipelago, or we go east.. to the ottoman Empire. They used to be our allies in monarchial times.", Francis suggested, putting the crown onto his own head and watching his reflection in a window. It was almost midnight and they had candles lit, thus creating reflections on window panes.  
Having the opportunity to be free to visit the British Isles made him think of seeing Alasdair again. Spontaneously he would have packed everything and went for Scotland right away… But there was still Seychelles. And the British possibly didn't like the French still.

"I think I want to go home. I want to see how things have changed… and if the French changed a lot there."  
"Did you actually have friends on there? When we picked you up, you couldn't really talk.. so we couldn't ask."  
"Well… The turtles, fish and seagulls were my friends. All of the parrots too.", Michelle made a sad face.  
"I think we could go there.", Francis' heart sank, when he thought that he'd be further away from Scotland now. It had been almost 100 years now since he had last seen him. On the other hand, he wanted to please his only daughter. He was an adult and had to not be selfish!

"Francis, I…I heard that the … the Montagne started to open the graves of the kings and queens in St. Denis.", Seychelles said. She would rarely call him Francis. Only when sh*** happened.  
France almost dropped the crown he still held in his hands and stared at her motionlessly. "…pardon?"  
"They are opening the graves and rob them… and… just throw them into a main grave."  
The crown hit the ground.  
"Quoi? Non! … Non! They can't do that!"  
"Je suis désolé…", Michelle said with a sad expression. "I should not have tell you… but.. it was your right to know that. And I also have to tell you that there is nothing we can do to stop them."  
"But… why? Why are they doing that?"  
"I heard it is because they lack important metals that they were going to use for war. And these metals they find on the coffins of the kings."  
"… I could understand, that they would go for some of the coffins. I mean… they are still angry at the monarchs. But every king? I also had good kings! Like Louis XIV.! They can't do that!", the Frenchman repeated with tears in his eyes. "Where do they tell you that?"  
"People talk about it on the streets. And they always meet in ball houses."

Francis ended up sending Seychelles back to her home alone. He promised that he would follow her there someday and told her to keep away from other nations that would happen to land on one of these isles. As a parting gift he gave her another Pierre to keep up their communication.  
The Frenchman himself went to Robespierre's meetings in the ball houses and other places. He would just pretend to be one of them.

The ideology of the Montagnards remained until the execution of Robespierre himself on 28 July 1794. After the French Parliament wanted to end the Terror of the Montagnards, Robespierre went insane. It is assumed that he even wanted to commit suicide before his execution. Along with him, over 80 of his followers got executed.

The war went badly. Prices rose, the sans-culottes rioted and counter-revolutionary activities began in some regions. And then after the Montagnards had become powerless, once more the Jacobins and the Sans-culottes formed an alliance, and also a new government.  
During the war and after a decisive victory at Toulon, a certain young officer, Napoleon Bonaparte, gained fame. He fought for the French republican forces and gained more and more victories for the young Republic. After the victory at Fleurus, the Republic occupied Belgium and the Rhineland (western Germany). An invasion of the Netherlands established the puppet Batavian Republic (today's Belgium and Netherlands). Finally, a peace agreement was concluded between France, Spain and Prussia in 1795 at Basel (Switzerland).

Born from chaos, a new constitution was made, in which the Directory and first bicameral (two chamber) legislature in French history was created. The parliament consisted of 500 representatives –le Conseil des Cinq-Cents (council of the five hundred), and 250 senators – le Conseil des Anciens (council of Elders). Executive power went to five 'directors', named annually by the Conseil des Anciens from a list submitted by the Conseil des Cinq-Cents.  
The nation desired rest and the healing of its many wounds – both in personified nation and in reality with the people of France.  
Those who wished to restore Louis XVIII. and the Ancien Régime and those who would have renewed the Reign of Terror were insignificant in number. The possibility of foreign influence had vanished with the failure of the 'First Coalition' that had formed when the major powers of Europe had allied to destroy France.

Nevertheless, the four years of the Directory were a time of arbitrary government and chronic disquiet. The late horrors had made confidence or goodwill between the parties impossible. However, the nation waited for an individual person to be the true voice and head of the state.  
The Directory dissolved in 1799, when Napoleon staged a coup and installed the Consulate. The Consulate still operated within the First Republic and was replaced by the 'First Empire', established by Napoleon in 1804, when the Corsican declared himself 'Emperor of France'.


	47. Chapter 46

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The Bonnie Prince Charles fled through Scotland, and even an enormous bounty of 30 000 pounds wasn't enough to melt the patriotism among the Scottish that helped the Prince to go back to France for exile. …However, Charles didn't try a second time and died as a broken man a few years later.

After the first Jacobite rises, attempts had been made by English General, to get a hold of Scotland by paving roads and bridges throughout the land – especially the Highlands. Now it was even more easy to find Jacobite resistance or anything the like. As a result, English troops fell intro Scottish lands, just to execute people on the likings. The nation was literally raped, plundered and burnt to shreds – mostly in the name of Cumberland.  
Loyal Scottish civil servants and aristocrats begged Cumberland to be not as harsh and devastating, as also innocent people became his victims. But all this begging was in vain and Cumberland continued his insane and cruel crusade against the Scottish. He would bear the nickname 'the butcher' from this time on.

Also the Clan system was literally eliminated. They became disarmed by law, their castles were burnt and the traditional Clan-System destroyed. Furthermore, it was prohibited to wear Kilt and Tartan patterns.

Ever since Culloden in 1746, no further attempt had been made for Scotland's freedom. The years after Culloden were practically a national tragedy for the nation, but on the other hand, while it had been possible, hardly anyone had helped the Prince to claim the Scottish throne or raised another movement for some kind of independence for Scotland. In the end, this was the pinpoint for a change in the Scottish system, culturally and politically as the Clan System had been very old and not fitting for the time.

British officers preferred Scottish now for Soldiers. They were considered being generally more hardy and less mutinous. It simply meant that they could work double as hard as an English Soldier for half the same wage.  
Moreover, vulgar jokes and violent diatribes were thrown at Scottish in general. It really was a bad time.  
Alasdair however had caught a happy lot this time. He was at England's beautiful house and was cared, as long as Arthur was home.

One day, Scotland would ask. "How come urr ye treating me sae muckle differently than mah fowk?"  
From what the redhead knew, the younger sibling had reasons to act horribly, just like Cumberland against his people. The redhead could feel the trespasses against his culture and nation in the form of a stubborn cold and sudden fevers. He was still skinny and not forming new muscles really.  
"Because then you would again go from me. As long as I treat you badly, fate has it that there is a way, only a small chance maybe, that there is a person that could take the Scottish throne and divorce the United Kingdom as it is… I want you to remain friendly with me. We are grown-ups now after all."  
"…Teuk ye lang enough tae figure oot."  
"If you weren't having a cold I would offer you a cigar."  
"mmmh.. thanks.. nae thanks."  
"I meant it."  
"mmh.", Scotland still distrusted the peace that had been created between the brothers. It was something unnatural. He would have to wait to see if it was a save bridge to cross.

The elder brother spend most of the day lonely in England's house. The routine only changed a little when siblings like Ireland or Wales came to visit. They were also under England's rule.. for a very long time in fact. They still had some kind of autonomy as human beings. They were not having anything to say as nations but still could live their lives normally as adults with rights of normal citizens. It just went like a saying 'What England does not know…'. For Alasdair it was still something new.  
The 'backfire' of the pain of his people was not as harsh as he thought it would be. The fever and cold was not as bad. He wondered if Arthur was taking some of that for him, just like back in the days when Scotland had been superior and practically took the blows for his younger siblings.

Another change in the daily life were the visits to America. On the sea route to the new world, Arthur became nearly crazy. He was in very good mood, hummed songs and whatnot.  
Alasdair didn't dare to talk to his younger brother – until Arthur would talk to him.  
"Oh myy… we will land in the harbor tomorrow. Have you ever met Alfred? He is such a bright child! And so cute and nice! He has the best manners.", the blonde bragged.  
"Ugh… Ah bet he is.", but not as good as Mhairi (Nova Scotia) or Matha (Canada), the Scotsman thought. He had to wear a longer beard now. Besides that it was comfy first to not trim it every morning or every second morning, it was now beginning to be a nuisance. It was often in the way or it was hard to take care of. He didn't want to adapt the beggar-look Arthur was forcing onto him.

When they landed, Arthur didn't waste much time and went straight for America's house.  
"America! I just came back like I said I would…", Arthur cheered as he had found the boy.  
" 'Sup, British dude?", came an equivalent cheerful reply, but from a much older person than expected.  
"…You just… how that…you got big… you grew big…", England was speechless.  
"He indeed is… a bricht wean.", Scotland chuckled.  
"Hey, who are you?"  
"A'm.. ugh… Ah jalouse a'm you're….uncle Alasdair?"  
"Uncle? So you're Ireland! That's soo cool! Nice to meet ya."  
"N-nae Ireland. A'm Scotland."  
"Yeah, whatever.", Alfred didn't even know where that was. "Are you guys hungry? I could eat a whole cart of pies!"

Arthur and Alasdair remained on the American countryside on which Alfred had built up a house. The young lad liked to live in the fields of farmers. He was rarely working, though. He'd rather spent his time on where the crops were ripened, the fruits ready to be plucked and devoured.  
Alasdair liked to be on the countryside as well, even when he was ordered around by his younger brother – Alfred soon adapted this behaviour and ordered him around also. Do this, do that. Not a single word like 'please'.  
It was all still better than before the time he had joined Prince Charles' troops to defeat the English.

Alasdair had asked to stay in the new world. But Arthur refused and took him back to Great Britain. He claimed that he'd have a use for the older brother.  
Then, in the early 60s of the 18th century, England came home from France with an old friend.. or family member, rather.  
"Matha…", Scotland blinked in confusion.  
"Dad!", the young nation cried, struggled free from the grip of its new possessor and uncle and leaped almost into the embrace of his father whom he had missed.  
"Shh… it's okay.", Alasdair said, almost automatically. In fact he didn't know if anything would be okay. By then he was overwhelmed by a sense of yesterday, when he was with France still.  
"Dad, I'm sorry that you are in his hands.. it's all my fault.", Matthieu whispered. He remembered that he had been given the task to get Scotland out of Versailles safely.  
"Shh... It's nae yer fault. Don't say sic hings. 'n' don't say that tae th' Sassenach."  
"To England?"  
"Aye. He micht hurt ye fur sic hawp. Ah don't waant that tae happen."  
"I… I know. And he also does not like when I speak French. But I don't care. It's Papa's language.", the young man stubbornly said. Despite being a rather shy person, Matthieu sure knew how to stand his ground.

Alba was quite happy now, that his only son was with him. It felt like he had someone backing him up against Arthur. Matha never failed to stand on his side, unlike Alfred who was his brother. It was unclear who was the older of them. Some might even say that they are twins. However, they haven't seen each other in decades, if not centuries.

In 1773, the American Revolution arose, starting the Boston Tea Party in which Alfred simply threw Arthur's tea into the ocean. Alfred was lunatic, perhaps… but Arthur who had sent the tea was reacting with angry and lack of understanding.  
"I must get there. I wonder what Alfred is up to. He is… he has become strange. Especially after he grew up like this.", the Kingdom said to his older brother. "but I am sure that he didn't do it to anger me. Yes.. it's… not his fault."  
"When will we get there?"  
"We? You will stay here. I will take Matthew with me. As far as I recall, they haven't seen each other since they were babies."  
Arthur was going upstairs to pack his and Matthew's luggage.  
"As long as we will be gone, I want you to behave. Don't go back to your home or else I will have people find and bring you to the tower of London. I hope I can trust you with keeping my house. And please take care of my roses. They need water every day."  
To make sure, everything would stay in place, Arthur told his fairies and the flying mint bunny to watch over the Scotsman.

It was bliss to have the house for himself. He felt almost human again, even with the Flying mint bunny watching him and being startled over almost every action. Like, when he took some tea, when he planted something new (that had never been in the garden before) or other random things. But majorly, he took the time to recover from the past. To think about everything. Mostly, his thoughts wandered towards Francis. Should he be going to France, to Versailles? But how would the people of Versailles welcome him? He still looked like a hobo. Arthur insisted that he'd look better like this… for his own safety… The English people regarded the Scottish to be much like cavemen. How far from the truth that was they didn't care. As long as they left him alone, Alasdair was fine with it. He didn't care for what the normal people thought – as long as he knew it wasn't making him any happy.  
Furthermore, he found his love in music, especially piano play.

In 1774, Arthur returned with Matthew. The United Kingdom was absent-minded and looked broken-hearted, when it returned home. Alba felt almost pity, when he looked at the ever so sassy brother.  
"Uncle Arthur lost the war against brother…", Matthieu said to Alasdair, as they were alone. A faint crying was audible, coming from Arthur's room.  
"It seems lik' he haes bin hurt this time fur real …", Alasdair muttered, looking towards the room.  
"I feel sorry for him… somehow.", the boy lowered his eyes. "…Y-you look good, Dad."  
"Mmh. Ah huv bin usin` th' time… fur fair… Kind o'."  
„You deserved it."

Arthur locked himself for a very long time in his room. A week had passed by with no sign of the blonde leaving the room. Not even for food, drink or anything else.  
"Flying Mint Bunny, cuid ye check oan him by ony chance?", Alasdair requested. The entity could float through walls and doors after all.  
The tiny thing obeyed, for once.  
"Who is the flying mint bunny?", Matthieu asked, and gave his scottish father a frown.  
"… Can't ye see it?", Alba frowned back.  
„See what?"  
„Th' green flying rabbit."  
„…There is no green flying rabbit.", Matthieu now looked terrified. His redhead father let out a small curse.  
"There really is no green flying rabbit!", the boy insisted and walked over into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

The flying mint bunny couldn't really change the situation. Arthur was just too stubborn to open his heart to others.

Due to Arthurs heartbreak, Alasdair was able to be more free than usual. When the 'lord' didn't care for what his slaves were doing, the slaves were free to move on their own. Scotland would have liked to live a life not in the hands and will of his /younger/ brother, he would have liked to remind his brother who had more experience… but for now he had to wait patient. Slowly, the rights would be returned to his people he kept saying to himself.  
However, he was free to go to Paris, to listen to the first performance of the 31st symphony of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He had become a fan of piano music after all and everyone was talking to much about the uprising talent of this young man from Austria.  
Alba could have used the opportunity to see Francis of course, but he had heard from Matthieu, that the Frenchman was still in overseas, watching over the young American Republic. Then again, there was fairies again watching his every step, making it unable to escape.

Not many years after this short trip, in 1983, the Laki mist from Iceland cloaked half Europe in a toxic cloud. Not only the continent was polluted, but also the British isle. Those that could, remained inside their house to wait the end of this disaster.  
Harvests were bad and the animals and humans died away. Famines and more weather catastrophes were to await.

Over in France it even had the cause of a Revolution – the common people revolting against the decadent upper class, the aristocrats and the clerics. After storming the Bastille, the prison of Paris in which political prisoners and others were held, the way for the people of France was opened for to become a republic. The fall of the monarchy was soon followed by a reign of Terror. The surrounding nations felt threatened by this outburst of anarchy and attacked France.  
Also Great Britain joined the war against the Revolutionary France. France however answered with powerful and determined troops. No one was interfering this change of conditions. The person representing France however was missing on the battlefield.

The reign of Terror eventually collapsed from within, and an uncertain time commenced between France and the United Kingdom.


	48. Chapter 47

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The Bonnie Prince Charles fled through Scotland, and even an enormous bounty of 30 000 pounds wasn't enough to melt the patriotism among the Scottish that helped the Prince to go back to France for exile. …However, Charles didn't try a second time and died as a broken man a few years later.

After the first Jacobite rises, attempts had been made by English General, to get a hold of Scotland by paving roads and bridges throughout the land – especially the Highlands. Now it was even more easy to find Jacobite resistance or anything the like. As a result, English troops fell intro Scottish lands, just to execute people on the likings. The nation was literally raped, plundered and burnt to shreds – mostly in the name of Cumberland.  
Loyal Scottish civil servants and aristocrats begged Cumberland to be not as harsh and devastating, as also innocent people became his victims. But all this begging was in vain and Cumberland continued his insane and cruel crusade against the Scottish. He would bear the nickname 'the butcher' from this time on.

Also the Clan system was literally eliminated. They became disarmed by law, their castles were burnt and the traditional Clan-System destroyed. Furthermore, it was prohibited to wear Kilt and Tartan patterns.

Ever since Culloden in 1746, no further attempt had been made for Scotland's freedom. The years after Culloden were practically a national tragedy for the nation, but on the other hand, while it had been possible, hardly anyone had helped the Prince to claim the Scottish throne or raised another movement for some kind of independence for Scotland. In the end, this was the pinpoint for a change in the Scottish system, culturally and politically as the Clan System had been very old and not fitting for the time.

British officers preferred Scottish now for Soldiers. They were considered being generally more hardy and less mutinous. It simply meant that they could work double as hard as an English Soldier for half the same wage.  
Moreover, vulgar jokes and violent diatribes were thrown at Scottish in general. It really was a bad time.  
Alasdair however had caught a happy lot this time. He was at England's beautiful house and was cared, as long as Arthur was home.

One day, Scotland would ask. "How come urr ye treating me sae muckle differently than mah fowk?"  
From what the redhead knew, the younger sibling had reasons to act horribly, just like Cumberland against his people. The redhead could feel the trespasses against his culture and nation in the form of a stubborn cold and sudden fevers. He was still skinny and not forming new muscles really.  
"Because then you would again go from me. As long as I treat you badly, fate has it that there is a way, only a small chance maybe, that there is a person that could take the Scottish throne and divorce the United Kingdom as it is… I want you to remain friendly with me. We are grown-ups now after all."  
"…Teuk ye lang enough tae figure oot."  
"If you weren't having a cold I would offer you a cigar."  
"mmmh.. thanks.. nae thanks."  
"I meant it."  
"mmh.", Scotland still distrusted the peace that had been created between the brothers. It was something unnatural. He would have to wait to see if it was a save bridge to cross.

The elder brother spend most of the day lonely in England's house. The routine only changed a little when siblings like Ireland or Wales came to visit. They were also under England's rule.. for a very long time in fact. They still had some kind of autonomy as human beings. They were not having anything to say as nations but still could live their lives normally as adults with rights of normal citizens. It just went like a saying 'What England does not know…'. For Alasdair it was still something new.  
The 'backfire' of the pain of his people was not as harsh as he thought it would be. The fever and cold was not as bad. He wondered if Arthur was taking some of that for him, just like back in the days when Scotland had been superior and practically took the blows for his younger siblings.

Another change in the daily life were the visits to America. On the sea route to the new world, Arthur became nearly crazy. He was in very good mood, hummed songs and whatnot.  
Alasdair didn't dare to talk to his younger brother – until Arthur would talk to him.  
"Oh myy… we will land in the harbor tomorrow. Have you ever met Alfred? He is such a bright child! And so cute and nice! He has the best manners.", the blonde bragged.  
"Ugh… Ah bet he is.", but not as good as Mhairi (Nova Scotia) or Matha (Canada), the Scotsman thought. He had to wear a longer beard now. Besides that it was comfy first to not trim it every morning or every second morning, it was now beginning to be a nuisance. It was often in the way or it was hard to take care of. He didn't want to adapt the beggar-look Arthur was forcing onto him.

When they landed, Arthur didn't waste much time and went straight for America's house.  
"America! I just came back like I said I would…", Arthur cheered as he had found the boy.  
" 'Sup, British dude?", came an equivalent cheerful reply, but from a much older person than expected.  
"…You just… how that…you got big… you grew big…", England was speechless.  
"He indeed is… a bricht wean.", Scotland chuckled.  
"Hey, who are you?"  
"A'm.. ugh… Ah jalouse a'm you're….uncle Alasdair?"  
"Uncle? So you're Ireland! That's soo cool! Nice to meet ya."  
"N-nae Ireland. A'm Scotland."  
"Yeah, whatever.", Alfred didn't even know where that was. "Are you guys hungry? I could eat a whole cart of pies!"

Arthur and Alasdair remained on the American countryside on which Alfred had built up a house. The young lad liked to live in the fields of farmers. He was rarely working, though. He'd rather spent his time on where the crops were ripened, the fruits ready to be plucked and devoured.  
Alasdair liked to be on the countryside as well, even when he was ordered around by his younger brother – Alfred soon adapted this behaviour and ordered him around also. Do this, do that. Not a single word like 'please'.  
It was all still better than before the time he had joined Prince Charles' troops to defeat the English.

Alasdair had asked to stay in the new world. But Arthur refused and took him back to Great Britain. He claimed that he'd have a use for the older brother.  
Then, in the early 60s of the 18th century, England came home from France with an old friend.. or family member, rather.  
"Matha…", Scotland blinked in confusion.  
"Dad!", the young nation cried, struggled free from the grip of its new possessor and uncle and leaped almost into the embrace of his father whom he had missed.  
"Shh… it's okay.", Alasdair said, almost automatically. In fact he didn't know if anything would be okay. By then he was overwhelmed by a sense of yesterday, when he was with France still.  
"Dad, I'm sorry that you are in his hands.. it's all my fault.", Matthieu whispered. He remembered that he had been given the task to get Scotland out of Versailles safely.  
"Shh... It's nae yer fault. Don't say sic hings. 'n' don't say that tae th' Sassenach."  
"To England?"  
"Aye. He micht hurt ye fur sic hawp. Ah don't waant that tae happen."  
"I… I know. And he also does not like when I speak French. But I don't care. It's Papa's language.", the young man stubbornly said. Despite being a rather shy person, Matthieu sure knew how to stand his ground.

Alba was quite happy now, that his only son was with him. It felt like he had someone backing him up against Arthur. Matha never failed to stand on his side, unlike Alfred who was his brother. It was unclear who was the older of them. Some might even say that they are twins. However, they haven't seen each other in decades, if not centuries.

In 1773, the American Revolution arose, starting the Boston Tea Party in which Alfred simply threw Arthur's tea into the ocean. Alfred was lunatic, perhaps… but Arthur who had sent the tea was reacting with angry and lack of understanding.  
"I must get there. I wonder what Alfred is up to. He is… he has become strange. Especially after he grew up like this.", the Kingdom said to his older brother. "but I am sure that he didn't do it to anger me. Yes.. it's… not his fault."  
"When will we get there?"  
"We? You will stay here. I will take Matthew with me. As far as I recall, they haven't seen each other since they were babies."  
Arthur was going upstairs to pack his and Matthew's luggage.  
"As long as we will be gone, I want you to behave. Don't go back to your home or else I will have people find and bring you to the tower of London. I hope I can trust you with keeping my house. And please take care of my roses. They need water every day."  
To make sure, everything would stay in place, Arthur told his fairies and the flying mint bunny to watch over the Scotsman.

It was bliss to have the house for himself. He felt almost human again, even with the Flying mint bunny watching him and being startled over almost every action. Like, when he took some tea, when he planted something new (that had never been in the garden before) or other random things. But majorly, he took the time to recover from the past. To think about everything. Mostly, his thoughts wandered towards Francis. Should he be going to France, to Versailles? But how would the people of Versailles welcome him? He still looked like a hobo. Arthur insisted that he'd look better like this… for his own safety… The English people regarded the Scottish to be much like cavemen. How far from the truth that was they didn't care. As long as they left him alone, Alasdair was fine with it. He didn't care for what the normal people thought – as long as he knew it wasn't making him any happy.  
Furthermore, he found his love in music, especially piano play.

In 1774, Arthur returned with Matthew. The United Kingdom was absent-minded and looked broken-hearted, when it returned home. Alba felt almost pity, when he looked at the ever so sassy brother.  
"Uncle Arthur lost the war against brother…", Matthieu said to Alasdair, as they were alone. A faint crying was audible, coming from Arthur's room.  
"It seems lik' he haes bin hurt this time fur real …", Alasdair muttered, looking towards the room.  
"I feel sorry for him… somehow.", the boy lowered his eyes. "…Y-you look good, Dad."  
"Mmh. Ah huv bin usin` th' time… fur fair… Kind o'."  
„You deserved it."

Arthur locked himself for a very long time in his room. A week had passed by with no sign of the blonde leaving the room. Not even for food, drink or anything else.  
"Flying Mint Bunny, cuid ye check oan him by ony chance?", Alasdair requested. The entity could float through walls and doors after all.  
The tiny thing obeyed, for once.  
"Who is the flying mint bunny?", Matthieu asked, and gave his scottish father a frown.  
"… Can't ye see it?", Alba frowned back.  
„See what?"  
„Th' green flying rabbit."  
„…There is no green flying rabbit.", Matthieu now looked terrified. His redhead father let out a small curse.  
"There really is no green flying rabbit!", the boy insisted and walked over into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

The flying mint bunny couldn't really change the situation. Arthur was just too stubborn to open his heart to others.

Due to Arthurs heartbreak, Alasdair was able to be more free than usual. When the 'lord' didn't care for what his slaves were doing, the slaves were free to move on their own. Scotland would have liked to live a life not in the hands and will of his /younger/ brother, he would have liked to remind his brother who had more experience… but for now he had to wait patient. Slowly, the rights would be returned to his people he kept saying to himself.  
However, he was free to go to Paris, to listen to the first performance of the 31st symphony of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He had become a fan of piano music after all and everyone was talking to much about the uprising talent of this young man from Austria.  
Alba could have used the opportunity to see Francis of course, but he had heard from Matthieu, that the Frenchman was still in overseas, watching over the young American Republic. Then again, there was fairies again watching his every step, making it unable to escape.

Not many years after this short trip, in 1983, the Laki mist from Iceland cloaked half Europe in a toxic cloud. Not only the continent was polluted, but also the British isle. Those that could, remained inside their house to wait the end of this disaster.  
Harvests were bad and the animals and humans died away. Famines and more weather catastrophes were to await.

Over in France it even had the cause of a Revolution – the common people revolting against the decadent upper class, the aristocrats and the clerics. After storming the Bastille, the prison of Paris in which political prisoners and others were held, the way for the people of France was opened for to become a republic. The fall of the monarchy was soon followed by a reign of Terror. The surrounding nations felt threatened by this outburst of anarchy and attacked France.  
Also Great Britain joined the war against the Revolutionary France. France however answered with powerful and determined troops. No one was interfering this change of conditions. The person representing France however was missing on the battlefield.

The reign of Terror eventually collapsed from within, and an uncertain time commenced between France and the United Kingdom.


	49. Chapter 48

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Napoleon Bonaparte, who stood at the peak of the French state, was a man of military strength. He put effort in the forthcoming of the nation in his own way. A nation had to be strong and fierce in order to achieve respect among others.  
The Corsican himself had been raised to be one for the military. In the time of the French Revolution, the fighting troops had already affected him – but back in that time he had been fighting for Corsica, not for France really. As he ascended in power – France was lacking soldiers and officers – he lost interest for to fight for Corsica alone and widened his ambitions for all of France. His home island was French after all.

Only 2 days after he married Josephine de Beauharnais in 1796, Napoleon went off to conquer Italy. Unlike the French monarchs that had practically wasted most of the 16th century to claim Italy, Napoleon claimed large pieces of Italy in almost no time with modern strategies and weapons.  
Napoleon was an energetic commander. He wouldn't rest on his victories for a long time. Initially an invasion towards Great Britain had been planned, but then the invasion was settled towards Egypt.  
Scientists and Artists were taken along with the troops to discover the ancient treasures that the nation held. Furthermore, the position in Egypt should become established by building houses in French architecture. Due to this, the French government and military hoped to block England's way to India.  
The Expedition in Egypt and the nations in the middle east turned out to be a failure, though it had been a starting point for 'Egyptology'… The failure didn't play a major role to France, Napoleon was still more of a hero to the nation.

Back in Paris, the people didn't rely onto the directorate as much anymore and wanted a different form of government. After some debate, three consuls were selected, with Napoleon being the first of them. Being the energetic man that he was, Napoleon soon drove out the other too, becoming de facto the sole ruler and only consul of France.  
As a consul he had almost unlimited power and was selected for 10 years. It was possible that he would be selected after these 10 years once again.

One of the first things he did, as to present his program, was to announce that the Revolution was actually over because the goals had been achieved.  
The citizens were mostly relieved. They had been wanting the results of the Revolution, such as a certain amount of freedom and equality, but they were worn from the reign of terror where everyone could kill and do other crimes deliberately.  
Also, other important things Napoleon worked for. Things that continued being in charge far beyond the time in which Napoleons ruled. He centralised administration, extended the **traffic infrastructure, improved the public finances, made a reformation of the currency that – in its basics – even existed until 1914, founded the 'Banque de France' and last but not least created the 'Code Civil', which is also known as 'Code Napoleon', in which the rights of any human being were held together for the first time. **  
For special achievements, Napoleon founded the Legion of honour.

Of course, also Napoleon had opponents which still rather were for a king then a selected head of the state or any other commoner who had achieved the power of a king. The consul tried to integrate them, but as he had discovered an assassination attempt, he dropped the case and killed those that had been trying to kill him.

On the outer politics, Napoleon strived to seek peace among the other European nations, such as Austria, Great Britain and Russia (yes, Russia). But bringing back slavery was rather unproductive. During the French Revolution, France had been the first nation to abandon slavery overall. However in Haiti, the former Slaves that would have been forced back into their role protested and achieved independence in the end.  
With selling Louisiana to the United States of America, France took his last claim from the northern American continent.

The peace however didn't last long. Due to the annexion of Piemont, the close bond with Switzerland and the fight over Malta, Great Britain felt startled and declared war to the young Republic. France put an embargo on British products and annected Hannover. The Plan to invade Great Britain but was dropped in 1805 anew.

In the meantime, Scotland experienced a time of prosperity, optimism and economic growth in the highlands. There was the 'Caledonian Canal' project in which a canal was built to cross Scotland from the north east to the south west by sea route. Farmlands were improved, the prices for Highland cattle rose and Army became attractive for young men from the highlands who sent pay home and retired there after their time in the military.

Meanwhile in France, after Napoleon had earned the **imperial dignity, he wanted to crown himself Emperor of France in December 1804. Pope Pius VII. was present to witness the act in the Notre Dame de Paris.  
The nobles and military higher-ups and their families were present. Further down the cathedral, nearer to the entrance, were the middle class people, but also nobles and militaries. Everyone was waiting for the act to start. Also, they were already holding the spirit of the days before Christmas in their hearts. More so, because light snow already covered the streets of Paris this day.  
**  
"We can't start yet, Monseigneur.", the old man said.  
„Why not? Everything is set up."  
"…Only the nation can crown its king.", before Napoleon could say anything, the Pope rose his hand to have him be silent. "Every nation has a human version of itself. The human version of France has been lost ever since the last king of France had been captured. Only few know of the nations that live like normal humans among us."  
"But… how do we find France? What does he look like?", Napoleon was actually unwilled to join the ‚old traditions'. On the other hand he had been always eager to fulfill everything that was needed to achieve his goals.  
"He is…"

The large doors of Notre Dame were opened, to reveal a poor clothed blonde young man. The man looked like a beggar, but then again much too clean for one. Perhaps he just could not afford new clothes.  
"You cannot start without me!", the man cried.  
The Pope recognised the person.  
"Who are you?", Napoleon asked.  
„I am your Republique, my name is Francis Bonnefoy."  
Bonaparte grinned. „ Well I guess, from today on you will be my supreme Empire."  
Francis felt liking to the word Empire. An Empire was more powerful than a kingdom. The nation had known about the doings of Napoleon… and on contrary had wondered why Louis XIV., the sun king had never declared himself Emperor. In power and determination both persons had been very strong.  
Also, Francis liked how Napoleon wasn't startled this much when he had appeared. Napoleon was surely standing his ground.

With long steps, the blonde walked through the large cathedral, soon reaching the altar, where the most important persons of this act were standing. France had brought the crown of France with him. The nation saw that they had already made a new crown. But the one Francis carried was the one many French kings had worn. It literally was the crown of France.  
"Bow down before me.", Francis said, following the old ritual. Bonaparte obeyed, though, it didn't need much for the soon-to-be Emperor to be smaller than Francis. Napoleon was about 1,68 m (5'6), while Francis had grown to be 1,75 m (5'9).  
Francis held the crown over Napoleons head.  
"Hereby, I crown thou to be the Emperor and supreme ruler of my house, my body. Thou shall rule in authority and wisdom and never put your own desires in first place. Thou shall be granted unlimited powers over France and the ability to interact with the nation's rulers outside of France, be it in war or in peace. From today on you will be …Napoleon Bonaparte I., Fils de France. (Son of France)"

After Napoleon was officially declared Emperor, he raised again and replied in a not less festive tone, that he would ‚serve' France with honour and dignity.  
"No need to worry, my nation. You will have it good under my rule.", he promised.

In addition to the crowning of Napoleon, the Emperor crowned his wife, Joséphine de Beauharnais. She was much older than her husband Bonaparte and had been married to someone else before... but she felt responsible for Napoleon and both shared a deep bond of trust. So much trust that Napoleon would push the spotlight towards her during his own ceremony.

What Francis also noticed was that Napoleon and his wife wore something… that reminded the nation of the Roman Empire. Usually, the Emperor was depicted wearing the uniform of a soldier. Only recently the trend had went to Romanism. Also, the garments resembled a bit those, that the people had worn in the early Christian time. The clothes back then had the characteristics of the Roman garments, but then again covered the body a lot more. In Christianity, showing too much skin was declared a sin after all.  
For now, perhaps, the covering style of the Romanised clothes of the ruling couple was due to it being winter.  
It turned out that Napoleon was a fan of the Roman Empire in every way and was determined to make France the centre of the world just like Rome was the centre for Europe in ancient times.

And one more thing came to the mind of the French Republic: He missed Scotland. He missed him with a burning passion. Only 3 years more and it was 100 years clean since England had taken the redhead from him. If it was for him, the blonde would dash out of Notre Dame de Paris… and rush towards Great Britain to free the damsel in distress. He had tried that ever so often, but Arthur / England had just swatted his ships and boats off.  
Perhaps, when Napoleon was strong enough, he could bribe this Emperor to attack England to free Scotland. It was a silly idea, but France was loving the older nation still.

A few months later, Napoleon got crowned in Italy as King of Italy. France got to see his younger brothers again: Feliciano (Northern Italy / Venice) and Lovino (Southern Italy / Naples) Vargas. As Napoleon became king of both of them, France practically had them as his territory also.  
"Bonjour, mes petits.", the blonde smiled.  
"Vee~ buongiorno, Fratello.", Feliciano grinned happily.  
"Well, soon I won't be able to call you 'mes petits' anymore. You have grown so much!"  
"Grazie. It's all thanks to the good pasta. …You have grown a lot also, Francia. Did you eat a lot of Pasta also?"  
"Haha, Non."

Lovino was, of course, not too happy to serve France instead of Spain. But Spain had been too poor to even try to protect the Italian.  
"Stronzo!", the hotheaded italian said. „You will never rule over us. Go to hell! Now!"  
„Ve? B-but Fratello… it's Francia! He is also our brother…"  
„I don't care if he is or not. I don't like that perverted idiot."  
„And no one cares what you think.", France dryly said. "You will have to obey Monseigneur Bonaparte. After all… it's not like you could defeat me. Or even defend yourself. You are way too weak to be a match."  
Francis didn't want to be cruel. But he liked the sweet taste of sudden success.

But in Italy, another thing awaited the new owner. Before Francis could even think, he saw his father – the ‚grand'father of the Italy twins. It appeared that the old nation had been drawn towards Napoleon and his delegation like a moth towards the light.  
"Surprised to see me, filius?"  
Francis made a sour face. Even after all this time, he didn't like the older man. "Not really surprised, but disguisted. Why don't you just go where you came from? Weren't you dead?"  
"Why so cruel? What did I ever do to you?"  
„Well… you came to live in this world."  
„As if that is my fault… but now for something different: Your Emperor seems to have a liking in me. I can feel that. So I just decided to live among you for a while. I am sure your Emperor will like it also! And I want to know what my eldest son is doing. I haven't seen you since the Renaissance."  
"What…?", France made an even more disguisted face. He didn't remember having seen his father during the Renaissance. Had the old man been stalking him secretly?  
„You should remember when you try to claim my grandsons place…You were here to make it yours."  
"Ah… Oui.. I remember."  
"You've grown so strong! But maybe with my help you can grow even stronger. Your Emperor plans to make you as strong as me?"  
Francis didn't even want to listen to Rome anymore and simply turned his back to walk off.  
"H-hey, don't walk out on me!"

And thus, Rome came to live with his son in Paris. The poor Frenchman had been suffering from a feel of loneliness and desperation after he had send Seychelles back to her islands for safety. Now, he wasn't sure if he was happy with his father making his home hell.

After the crowning, Francis had joined the army of the French ruler again… as a high ranking officer. He could bring in a lot of his experience in war. Moreover, he benefited from it, grew stronger and healthier, and could wear better clothes – though it was mostly army uniforms. At this time, soldiers of any rank would decorate their uniforms if time and their rank would allow it. It turned out that some looked really fabulous.

With the crowning of Napoleon, there were no improvements made on international level. Instead, Tsar Alexander I. allied with Great Britain in 1805 with the aim to throw France back into the borders it had been in 1792. Austria, Sweden and Naples joined them. Only Prussia wouldn't join this Alliance – in fact the German lands Bavaria, Württemberg and Baden joined the side of Bonaparte.  
With the proven tactic of Bonaparte to part the hostile troops, Austria soon was beaten and entered Wien (Vienna) in the very same year, in November 1805.

Right after taking Wien, Napoleon lured the Russians and the Austrian due to faking own weakness at the battle of Austerlitz – which he won. France lost the battle at Trafalgar against the British commander Nelson, but it didn't matter as much on the continent as the Battle of Austerlitz.  
In December 1805, Austria was taken to contract in which it had to give the Italian possessions into the Napoleonic Italian kingdom, and Tiro and Vorarlberg to Bavaria.

To secure the successes, Napoleon asked the younger members of his family to watch over the new territories as kings and dukes and others. Also, he married them to the several aristocratic houses in the lands Napoleon had taken. Among them was Naples, Spain, Holland / Netherlands, Italy and parts in Germany.

Napoleon didn't form the Rheinbund without force. The French troops had invaded this region more often. On this occasion, France had gotten to meet the nation representing this place…rather unwillingly.  
"Vous êtes fou? (Are you mad?)", France shouted and knocked down a low ranking soldier, who had just shot Ludwig – the Holy Roman Empire – into the head.  
The other French soldiers stared bewildered at their nation. The blonde didn't care and took a closer look at a Teenage Ludwig who was lying in the dirt with his head bleeding heavily.  
Cursing under his breath, Francis wondered if he could do something for the boy. If it had been a human being, it would have been a deadly wound. But with this…? Francis could swear he saw the brain gushing out and felt nauseous.

More german troops were arriving on the battle field.  
**"****Nous devons aller! (we must go !)**", the soldier standing next to Francis cried and grabbed the kneeling nation. "**Nous n'avons****pas eu le temps** (We don't have time)!"  
They shot their way out as they retreated.

In Summer 1806, Napoleon formed the Rheinbund around the river Rhein that runs through mostly western Germany. The condition to that was also, that the members of the Rheinbund would have to leave the Holy Roman Empire. Not much later, Franz II., who had been Emperor to the Holy Roman Empire until then, laid down his crown.

Not much later, Gilbird paid a visit to the stressed France.  
"Oh, **un timbre** …(a letter)"  
He opened it.  
'Hey Frankreich, did you think that you could kill my little brother and get away with it? I made a pact with Russland and I will kill you when you don't go back home to where you belong! I am the awesome Preußen and I will not allow you dirty French to linger longer im Deutschen Reich, nor will I ever allow you to come any closer to me! Pack your things and go!

P.S.: I don't care anymore if we had been friends before! You killed what was most precious to me! You can't demand mercy!'

Napoleon saw a declaration of war in this. Francis didn't know what to say or to think. It hadn't been a purpose. Yet, Ludwig had been a nation! Nations could not die? How often did others have mortal wounds? Francis himself couldn't even count any of them… he had always been protected by others. …Like a princess. Or a prince? He remembered when Scotland had called him ‚wee prince'.

Bonaparte however, didn't get confused over his emotions. He continued the march towards Berlin and destroyed the prussian troops at Jena and Auerstedt with no problems. Everything that the French Emperor came across, he claimed right away. In Autumn 1806, he reached Berlin.

With the remaining troops, Prussia continued the war on the side of the Russian army. With fighting the Russians, Napoleon experienced limits for the first time in his career. The land was very wide and the paths bad for quick movements. The supply for the troops was bad and the Russians always retreated, slipped away, without even meeting for battle. The following winter the French Emperor spent in **Warszawa**, where some polish patriots wanted him to help recovering Poland.

More battles came, and with the Treaty of Tilsit, Russia, Prussia and France agreed on peace. For Prussia, the agreements were horrible. All regions west to the Elbe were lost and became base to the Kingdom of Westphalen. The polish Provinces became part of the grand duchy of Warszawa.  
Thinking of it, Prussia lost half of its territory and had to pay contribution and also its army was shrunken down to an almost ridiculous size.

Nearly all continental Europe was under direct or indirect control of Napoleon at the time of 1807. Against the hostile Great Britain, Napoleon simply put an Embargo: No trading to or from the British Isles – for all Europe!


	50. Chapter 49

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

In the years after the peace treaty of Tilsit, Napoleon had reached the peak of his power. And as we know it, every sun had its time to set.  
Less and less would Bonaparte allow critique on his way of ruling, he became a despot. Talleyrand, who had disagreed over the expansions policy, was fired immediately. Censorship in the news became stronger. It evolved more and more into a new aristocracy and also old members of the Ancien Regime were invited to Napoleons court. Members of the Revolution who had equality in their mind looked with awe onto the Palais de Tuileries. Napoleon even thought about moving to Versailles, which was more suspicious.

In international politics, Napoleon planned on taking over Spain completely with putting Joseph Bonaparte as king. The people of Madrid but revolved against this and threw Joseph out of the city. The Spanish got support from the British since now they had the same enemy: France. Napoleon took the Spain affair into his own hands, but the cause was too expensive and therefore remained an unsolved problem in 1809.

Right after the return to Paris, the Austrian troops under Karl of Austria marched into Bavaria. In Germany then, the Austrian tried to gain forces to fight against Napoleon. Voices grew louder against the foreign Emperor, yet only under cover, growing until they would be ready to face the French.  
Napoleon took this rebellious attempt serious and led his troops against the Austrian, to witness his first defeat near Aspern-Essling. But in the next battle, Napoleon won over Karl of Austria. Furthermore, Austria had to give Dalmatia, Central Croatia, Krain, Austrian Küstenland, Salzburg and the Innviertel to France. Just like Prussia earlier, it lost more than half of its territory and had to reduce its army. It had to agree onto the embargo that had been put on Great Britain. Further, a military bond was made between Austria and France.

Napoleon appeared more and more cold hearted and calculating. All his efforts moved over to his plan, to own the world and to make France the centre of everything.  
The Emperor went so far that he divorced himself from Joséphine… as it had remained childless. As an Emperor he needed to give his legacy to someone. He included himself into his wedding policy and married the oldest daughter of the Austrian Emperor, Marie-Louise of Hapsburg. In 1811, Marie gave birth to Napoleon II..  
Believing that Napoleon had created a new dynasty, he ordered feasts everywhere in the Realm that should become part in a Napoleonic calender.

Eventually it even went so far, that the French Emperor had plans on taking over Russia. Francis wanted to get this idea out of the head of the monarch… after all, Russia's limits were not known exactly, but even in the time of that age everyone knew that Russia was the largest land on earth and the Russians were fearful fighters. No one would dream of messing with Russia.  
Tsar Alexander I. of Russia however, took the decision from the French hands. Out of economic reasons, he didn't want to stop the trade with Great Britain anymore.  
The Emperor of France settled for a war against Russia in the first half of 1812.

The Rheinbund, Prussia and Austria was taken into duty to follow Napoleon into this war. Sweden with its new Crown prince and the former French General Bernadotte decided to take sides with Russia.  
The Grande Armée of Napoleon was 675 000 men strong – the strongest army that Europe had ever seen!  
With that, the tactic of Bonaparte was as usually, that he would lead a quick battle that would decide the whole war and end in a peace treaty.

But the Russians had something else in mind: They used their whole land, retreating as far as ever possible, soon wearing out the French. The method to nurture the troops with the food they found in villages and on the fields on their way through the lands had been shattered also. The Russians would burn their farmlands and take everything edible that they had. The French literally were on a journey on 'scorched earth' with smaller growing provisions.  
In August 1812, when the French reached Smolensk, they were already shrunken to the size of 160 000 men (515 000 men died in only half a year).  
Before Moskow the Russians stood against the French, as if to protect the Russian heart.  
Napoleon won this battle, but the losses were immense with 80 000 Dead or wounded on each side.

With no further interferences, Napoleon took Moskow. The People of Moskow had left their city. It was practically a ghost city. An eerie silence hung over it.  
"It has been too easy… Hm… If the old Fritz had been alive, we would have never gotten this far.", Napoleon said with deep respect for the old Prussian king who had passed away in 1786. "Something's in the air…"  
„Oui, …it smells like something is burning.", Francis remarked.  
Bonaparte, Francis and the higher ranked militaries were standing in some palace-like building. The common soldiers were partly standing outside and guarding, others were recovering in the houses surrounding the 'palace'.

"E-Emperor! The city… it is burning!", a french common soldier cried as he stumbled into the room.  
"What?"  
The leaders of the French army reacted quick and the troops left the city in a hurry – to watch it burn to the ground from afar.  
Most Soldiers were suffering from starvation, diseases, snow and cold, despite it being summer.

The Russian Tsar refused any negotiations. The French were forced to leave Russia in October 1812 due to lack of provisions and sickness. It was so cold that they had to burn their flags. On their way back their Tross was repeatedly attacked by the Russian Cossacks.  
In the battle at Beresina Napoleons Grande Armée was completely defeated. 45 000 French were left for the hard walk home.  
"Monsieur… We will never make it back to the homeland.", Francis dared to say one evening. His concern was still to the fact that they had to walk through territory where the French were not really liked to be seen. "We still have to go through Prussia, the German Empire… and others perhaps. Belgium and Netherlands if we go too straight."  
"Shut up. …We will eventually survive. Just believe in it.", Bonaparte hissed.

When they reached the Prussian Border, only 18 000 French were left. It was almost ridiculous. Not even their horses were left. The commander of the Prussian Relief Corps parted from the Grande Armée and sealed an armistice with the Russian Tsar on his own. In the meantime, Napoleon had continued his way to Paris to start a new army to attack Russia.

In Germany, the defeat of Napoleon led to an uprising, a national movement. Friedrich Wilhelm III. of Prussia was siding with Russia and called for freedom from the French. In the beginning only few German states followed.  
After Napoleon managed to recruit a few, bad trained soldiers, he walked across Germany to try once again to claim Russia. The French Empire had tried to talk his Emperor out of this nonsense, now he was following them into their doom.  
In the start, Bonaparte still showed his military knowledge and remained pretty calm. He won twice over the German troops and approached Prussia once again.  
The reorganised Prussian troops were serious enemies to the French which why Bonaparte agreed to a truce.  
This was also used to lure Austria to either Prussian or French side.

On the Peace congress in Praha, an ultimatum was brought upon Napoleon in which he was forced to dissolve the Rheinbund, to give up on the Grand Duchy Warszawa and to restore Prussia as it was in 1806. Bonaparte didn't want to do either of them, as it meant to give up on the supreme role that France was filling by that time.  
As a result, Austria declared war to France. Prussia and Russia joined the cause. And also Sweden joined in after a short while. The combined troops of them rolled over Bonapartes Troops like nothing.  
The final blow came in the battle near Leipzig (Germany). Bavaria had switched sides only a few days before, while Saxony went down along with Napoleon. The French retreated behind the Rhein.

The enemies of the French didn't rest for a long time. Immediately after Bonaparte had retreated, the Rheinbund dissolved by itself, trespassing against its creator. On the Spanish front, Wellington (British Commander) approached to the French border. And now even in France itself, voices against Napoleons regime grew louder. It was more like they just have endured Napoleon as long as he was winning.  
The Recruitment of new soldiers became difficult as Bonaparte wasn't given any support anymore, the Emperor didn't have much to throw against the united forces of the Russian, Prussian, Austrian, German, Swedish and British. Only Bonaparte's military skills delayed a complete defeat, instead the first few rounds went in favour of the French, despite being outnumbered by far.

But Bonaparte could not fend off the enemies forever. And so, the massive hordes took over Paris in March 1814 after a battle that had went for their favour.  
The Emperor of France lost any support from his army, other politicians and even his closest friends.  
One month later, the Emperor was forced to abdicate. Napoleon wanted to put his son as the following Emperor, but the Senate declined. They requested him to abdicate without debate.  
Bonaparte signed the contract, and was brought to the Isle Elba where he was banned and left only with the empty title of Emperor.  
Francis Bonnefoy remained in Paris among the higher ups of the society.

While Napoleon remained in Elba, Louis XVIII., the younger brother of Louis XVI. was set up as the king of France. A time in which the 'Ancient Regime' was restored. If you might wonder, what happened to Louis XVII. …he died as a child of only 10 years due to sickness, but was remarked as the 17th Louis by Monarchists.  
After only one year, a remarkable dissatisfaction was felt among the people of France. Would there be another revolution?  
No, but Napoleon reappeared from Elba. With the help of a net of agents he exactly knew what was going on. The soldiers that had been told to keep him in Elba had switched to his side and as Louis XVIII. saw him, he fled from the Tuileries!  
The constitution of the Emperor was liberalised, but the people were not overjoying because of Napoleons return.

Alarmed by the happenings in France, Austria, Russia, Great Britain and Prussia decided on the congress in Wien to interfer. Their alliance was renewed in March 1815.

In spite of all difficulties, Napoleon managed to bring up an army of 125 000 experiences soldiers. He left behind a provisionally government under Marshall Davout and marched against the alliance. Just like always, the Emperor decided to beat the enemies one after another.  
And also in the beginning he succeeded in splitting up the british and the prussian troops. In June he beat the allied in the battle by Quatre-Bras and the Battle by Ligny.  
In the same month he attacked the British army near the Belgian village named Waterloo…

Francis had heard that there were Scottish among the British soldiers – as infanterists and dragooners and some others. He still could tell their accents and their way of shouting and fighting from the ways of the English and others… it was a chance to see Alasdair. Only a small chance, but it made him euphoric. He had to see him! And perhaps even more was to do… If chance wanted it, he would be saving him from the French. Would Alasdair do the same for him? But even if the Scotsman didn't love him anymore. He would give his life for the one he had always loved dearly in his heart.

There was several individual farms and a forest near-by. Napoleon had strict plans where and when he would meet the British soldiers. The Scottish were – telling by their rank and function as Soldiers – in the secound line and beyond. Francis concentrated and always led his horse to the back rows, to Napoleons brother Jérôme who led the lower rank soldiers, also infanterists and others.  
"Also in the back row, Monsieur?", Jérôme asked, blushing slightly. He had seen his nation always from afar until then, wondering about everything over this person. He had been not popular in his own family. And today he kind of regretted how everything had come. How he had been commanded around by his older brother. How he had been king over Westphalia though he had never been interested in such thing.  
"Oui. …for today I will be, Jérôme.", Francis was nervous.  
"D-do you think I will die today, Monsieur?"  
"…I don't know who will die. I am no fortune-teller.", Francis' blue eyes darkened. He had always been to war. Always war. But death was one thing he didn't like to think too much about.

The battle started with a lot of delay. No one really listened to Napoleon anymore. The troops were in great disorder. After the start had fallen, the individual groups went into chaos. However, everyone found their opponent.  
Francis thought that he would actually be able to tell where Alasdair was, if he was among the soldiers: there where the most people died. The Scotsman wasn't a murderer, but he was sure a serious enemy. Francis guessed that Alasdair would also be good on shooting weapons. He imagined the tall redhead being just like a savage Viking. One move of his hand and a million people would die, so mighty he would be.  
Also, the blonde figured that it would be easier to find him, than the other way around.. there was not many redheads, but more blonde people around.  
While trying to stay alive, his eyes scanned the Scottish troops for a face he could recognise.

There, at a lonely farm where the barn was burning he found him. The redhead had just fallen from his horse, as the poor animal had been hit by something – possibly a bullet.

Francis rode quickly over to the man and dragged him almost violently onto his horse.  
"You are… heavy…Écosse."


	51. Chapter 50

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The weather was miserable. At any time the rain would start to beat down and drown the fighting soldiers underneath those rain-heavy clouds.  
Francis had abducted a very confused Scotsman from the battlefield. As long as he wasn't getting beaten by the redhead, the Frenchman hurried his horse to fly faster and faster over the crops to a forest in which there surely would be no soldier. It was too far away.

It started to rain lightly.  
"Cuid ye tell me how come ye teuk me awa' frae thaim? wha urr ye anway?"  
Being heartbroken for a moment, Francis stared at Alasdair. The redhead looked actually very good… thinking of what he had been through. Perhaps it was due to his beard, but he didn't look like he had been starving a lot anymore. Then his uniform looked good and still kind of clean and with no holes or anything.  
"D-don't you remember me? I … I am your wife! I mean, I had been your… your wife. Or husband…", Francis murmured.

"…Francis?", Alasdair frowned. That man before him didn't look like anything from his memories. That man before him was taller and wore a blonde beard (well, actually only stubble on his chin). Besides that a uniform with blue top and white pants, it was obvious that the Frenchman had been suffering from starvation. Also the voice was different than from what he remembered. Yet… the eyes and the hair was almost the same. "Francis!?"  
"Oui!", Francis smiled.  
„ But… ye huv a fluff. ", Alasdair frowned and it looked like he wondered if this person standing before him was even real.  
"Ugh.. oui. Thanks to Napoleon I have aged again. …This bodyhair won't stop growing.", Francis blushed. For now he didn't want to brag to his husband where he had this hair also. "I have abducted you to save you from hurt. Or to be killed. ….And I wanted to talk to you! I have seen you for such a long time not! I have missed you so badly! I was even wondering that if behind Angleterre's wall you would be still loving me anymore…"

Alasdair kissed Francis firmly onto the mouth.  
"Does that answer yer quaistion?"  
"…O-oui.", he answered with a hoarse voice as the rain soaked through the leaves of the trees. Francis quickly returned the kiss.  
"Ah huv an' a' worried a lot ower ye. Whin th' Laki drow cam, whin th' French Revolution cam ower ye… Matha is wi' Sassenach 'n' me noo. He is daein' weel. 'n' he keeps speaking French even though that wee runt doesn't lik' it. Bit Arthur is stowed wi' bein' dowie fur o' th' loss o' America anyway. … Ye keek tairible! ah huv some fairn, if… ugh. Mah horse! Ah left it behind wi' what's ben th' saddlebags!"  
"Oui, that had been hard times indeed. On some times I thought I'd be dying. I am not dying. I have just… been in Russia. It is a very hard land. Hard to survive with no food. I am not hungry now. And it was me who took you from your horse. … I am sorry it died."  
Both nations knew that they didn't have much time. So information had to be exchanged quickly.

"Dae ye think we kin catch up wi` again?", Alasdair asked. In his mind he already calculated a way out, despite he didn't want to leave his lover yet. Now they were politically enemies together in a battle.  
"I don't know. But we have to be careful that we won't be captured.", Francis felt very unsure in the English language. He didn't have time to think about sentence structures. "I would have said… depending on how this battle goes out… if your team wins, I'd be your captive.. and the other way around."  
Alasdair thought about this. Would they be able to spend the following years together like this? With Alasdair being captive with the French… Arthur might either not care or just abduct him like he had done before the Act of Union. And with Francis as being a hostage to the British, Arthur might do with him what he wants instead of just leaving him be. England hasn't said something about being hostile towards the French in a while, despite he now fought them… So much depended onto the little runt! Why did it have to be him who was pulling the ropes?

"Na, it is… awfy much risk. We better pairt as quickly as ye can, as muckle as it hurts. We aye loue ilk ither. That's whit counts.", Alasdair decided. „ I'd ower bide in constant patience 'n' hauld yer horses fur th' day ah kin bide wi' ye freely than tae see th' chance that ye micht be tortured by mah brother. "  
Francis thought for a moment. The Scotsman was right. Anyway, Arthur would still be able to torture both of them. So being separate was the most bearable among these tortures, possibly. And their love was unbroken even after one hundred years. England could not harm their love. Nothing could.

„…Tha gaol agam ort (gael.: I love you), Écosse (frz.: Scotland) .", Francis said in gaelic with tears in his eyes.  
"Je t'aime aussi (frz.: I love you too), wee (little) prince.", tears also came from Scottish eyes. But thanks to the rain they hardly were visible…  
In the background, the noise of arriving soldiers was already heard. It was the Prussian that came to help the British troops. The lovers parted after a passionate kiss and a heartfelt hug.

With the help of the Prussian, the French were beaten easily. With the battle of Waterloo, the end of a hundred days reign of Napoleon ended. The former Emperor was only one captive among many French soldiers.  
Francis was the happiest French Soldier of that day even though his people had utterly failed. He knew that he could not wish for a better lover than Scotland and really through all this trouble and all times, the other had remained like a rock in midst the surf. What could a man wish for more!?  
Little did he know that Seychelles had been claimed British territory one year ago.

When Napoleon returned to Paris, he abdicated. On the resolution of the victiorious powers, the Emperor was sent to a lonely island on the south atlantic, St. Helena. In October, Bonaparte reached the island that he would never leave until his death in 1821. In the meantime where Napoleon awaited his death, the monarchy was subsequently restored with Louis XVIII. as the king again.

At the same time, all around the world another revolution was going on. First only subtle and very faintly, the people had decided to make their lives easier, or perhaps more adventurous. First there had been periods of enlightenment in which the people would recognise collectively or individually their surroundings and their role as human being in the middle of the laws of nature.  
Efforts have been made to use these laws for themselves, for their benefits. It was the time of the industrial Revolution!  
The topics over the Industrialisation were agriculture, manufacturing, mining, transportation and technology.  
This Revolution began in the United Kingdom, and then eventually spread throughout Western Europe, Northern America, Japan and then to the rest of the world.

The first machines were rather rare and looked upon with a sense of fear. The inventors of course did not fear anything, the manual to their gadgets were in their heads after all, just like the danger possibilities.  
Besides even crippling some of the inexperienced manufacturers and other employees that were to handle the machines, there was always a group that was against the machines. More machinery meant less human powered manufactures after all. Soon, the people lost their jobs as the machines could work faster and produce more. The negativities overweighed. Still, the owners of the factories were trusting into the new machines as they were earning more money in shorter time. It created a new kind of wealth: normal people that worked their way upwards – so much that they could easily be on eye-level with aristocrats in no time!

In November of 1824, an accident happened in Edinburgh. A series of fires broke out in the middle of the city. The inferno started, as experts stated it later, in a copperplate printing house, spread then to the roof and in less than an hour several adjoining tenements were ablaze.  
Firemen were able to save the property on the eastward, but completely forgot apparently that the wind would blow the flames towards the west. The fire was constantly nurtured by the paper around. Furthermore, the fire wandered towards the cowgate where old wood-based buildings were crowded together, a vision of a filled plate of finest food for any fire.

The blaze was finally halted to the west of the Courant Offices, due to a neighbouring building which, one story higher prevented the flames from reaching its roof. On midday, one day later, the fire seemed to have burnt itself out.

The Tron Kirk, standing two hundred yards away from the scene where the first outbreak had been, was the source of the next outbreak. Just as the first fire was under control and almost put out, the alarm was given that the church was on fire. Long ladders had to be constructed right then to reach the rooftops of the chapel.  
The structure, made of lead covered wood, could not be extinguished and soon came crashing down to the ground. A powerful engine, owned by the Board of Ordnance, finally subdued this fire.

The firemen had to take care of a third outbreak the same evening. This time it started in an eleven story building on Parliament Square. The great height of the structure made it impossible to bring the fire engines effectively to bear on the flames which spread in all directions consequently.  
By 4 o'clock in the morning of the next day, the building was a mass of flame which quickly extended to the east of the square, destroying a brand new jury court room in its wake. This fire, which abated at 8 in the morning, had showered sparks and embers onto the residences towards the rear of the High Street and numerous other places, but these comparatively small outbreaks were soon brought under control.

Alasdair had experienced this time with an unusual heat wave over his body. It had begun in his heart, in his chest and had most likely acted like a very high fever. It was his luck that he had not been in Edinburgh at the time. He was still home in London with his brother and had simply collapsed on the street.  
A kind person had brought him to a hospital where they had taken care of him.  
One more thing that had been unusual was that Arthur had visited him and hardly had left once he had been there. It was like the lad had finally understood what it was like to lose an important person, when he had lost America.

In the mid-1840s, another crisis hit North-Western Europe hard. It was later called the 'European Potato Failure'. The famine was caused by potato blight, it was like the potatoes were rotting on the field. Potatoes had been a very important food source after the Spanish and others had brought it over from America. It had substituted the wheat that has been used as a primary source from that time. Also, the old Fritz had always told the german to eat potatoes to compensate their hunger.  
Now there was even more misery in it, because many people starved due to lack of access to other staple food sources.

The highest death rates were in Belgium and Prussia with 40 000 to 50 000 deaths on account to the famine, the remainder of deaths occurred mainly in France with 10 000 deaths.  
During the famine, also birth rates dropped as well as the chance of children to survive at all.  
In the Scottish highlands and Ireland, where the crisis was the harshest, the people left the country in huge clusters to sail to North America or Australia. For Example in Ireland, over 1 Million people left (Back in the time, 1 Million was a lot more than to nowadays times where 1 Million people 'easily' live in only one city). Soon, the land was practically empty. As a side effect it brought attention to their situation in the United Kingdom as lower privileged people.


	52. Chapter 51

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

But there was also good times in the 19th centuries, besides all of these accidents and famines. In the end of the 1840s, an Initiative of the British trade association had planned to make a World Exposition in which all new kinds of arts and technology would be presented to the world – from the world. Expositions were nothing new really, but new was the concept that the whole world would be invited to show what they had achieved.  
Henry Cole, a British civil servant was recommending this idea to Prince Albert, the husband to Queen Victoria. Prince Albert was the president of the Society of Arts and therefore became responsible for this project.  
The idea was simply perfect to improve the worldwide export.  
Organisation and administration was given to a committee of 24, the so-called 'Royal Commission', that had been set in by the Queen in person. It gave the project some national shine. With the Industrialisation after all England had become a whole lot stronger and more important.  
Even so strong that they would have made their fashion become more important than the French Fashion. The English fashion at that time was simply more convenient for the purpose, less frilly and more body fitting. This fashion taste was simply better for the time in which the most people of the world were busy with their business. There was no time for playful garments – at least for the men.

The men at this time wore a top hat, when showing how fashionable they were. Then around their neck was a cravat, which was still a little frilly maybe. It could also be simply some white tissue that was set into folds rightly. The collar was rather stiff, sometimes also supported by cardboard. The shirt was usually white with little decoration in form of smaller folds. A vest in brown or in another decent colour was worn along with the white shirt. Tight fitting darker pants were covering the lower parts of such a 'Victorian gentleman'. The Gentleman could decide whether to wear boots that went to the knee or to wear simple shoes that would simply cover the feet but nothing special. Then there was the jacket: Just like the pants it would be of rather darkish colour, the front was kept rather short and in the back two flaps (like a swallow) or one broad (like a dove) would be hanging down. Sometimes the outfit was complimented with a monocle…

The women at the time were partly still like in the time when the French fashion was ruling, still with their wide skirts and their eccentric folds. But then again there was also British elements inserted. The Lady of these times would wear a smaller hat with feathers (ostrich feathers usually) or flowers or ribbon – the ribbon would hang down behind the head. Then the collar would share the same stiff character of the collar of the men – but be smaller of course – charmed with a small bow. The woman would wear, just like the man a white shirt, decorated with smaller frills or folds – but never as much as it would bother her when she would work. The skirt was a little extended, but also often drawn towards the back. Eventually women would put a small cushion above their butts and with neat folds and crinkled fabrics and sometimes even large bows draped nicely over this cushion to actually create a small dress train. The feet were of course not visible since it would be outrageous and draw sexual attention.  
When going outside, the woman had to wear a smaller jacket that would come with a manteaux. The jacket would not go below the waist and the manteaux would stop on half of the upper arm. The Jacket could be accentuated with a small belt.  
This fashion was something completely different than what the French had under Napoleons rule: stock white Chemise dresses – in which the women would also often catch a cold.

Back to the 'Great Exhibition of 1851'. The Exhibition would go from May 1st to October 11th in 1851 and take place in the Hyde Park in London. The official closing party was said to be on the 15th of October.  
The financing of the Exhibition had to be supported by private salaries.  
For the Exhibition, a building had to be set up. An area over around 28,000 square feet had to be covered. Over 250 ideas for the exhibition building had been declined for to be too huge, not good looking or simply too expensive. Then the Royal commission came up with an own idea. This brought criticism over the whole project once again. The project could not be postponed or it would ruin the Nations reputation!  
At the same time, a different concept over the exhibitions building was brought in. Joseph Paxton, who had been a garden architect so far proposed a plan in which a large garden house with the sizes to cover the ground of the Hyde Park in London. The 'Crystal Palace' was 1847 feet long and 406 broad. Initially the roof was planned flat, but then was changed into a half-circle ton-like form for to save some very old trees that had to be saved from felling.

Inside the building, there was space over two stories for the several nations that would exhibit their artwork, machinery, production methods, industrial goods, craftsmanship and resources. The main attraction but was the Palace itself!

Over 94 nations had been able to come. Soureveign nations like France, Belgium and Switzerland – England of course – but also dependent states like India, Algeria and Ceylon (Sri Lanka). Also individually counted were the British Channel Islands, Jersey and Guernsey, and also the German States – though some of the German states had grouped together in the Customs union.  
More than half of the building was left for the British Empire. Almost 8500 Exhibitionists came from Great Britain, Ireland and the British colonies, while the Rest was made up from the other parts of the world.

After the nations had enough time for preparing their stands and exhibitions, and the first day was at its peak, a speech was held to welcome all the visitors. Queen Victoria said a few things, then her husband who had arranged this project after all, then even Arthur Kirkland, the host nation.

Francis, who stood in the crowd watched the young Kirkland with some thought. That man over there was no longer the angry child that had attacked France such a long time ago…Only in 1820, the English rulers had finally given up on calling themselves king or queen of France.  
Now Francis wondered if he could see a familiar face around. Besides that it was the first time so many nations where gathered around among the people. The Frenchman was excited.  
Yes right! Next to the platform where Angleterre held his little speech, his siblings were gathered. .. and then also some others. Francis could recognise Canada. He was grown so much… And then two other kids with thick eyebrows, possibly colonies. But Scotland was nowhere seen.

Then, suddenly someone grabbed him harsh from behind and the Frenchman found himself in a narrow embrace.  
"Écosse!"  
„Wee prince! Jalouse what… Arthur allowed us tae be th'gither again! "  
„Whaaat? Explain that to me! Is this really true? Why out of the blue…?"  
„Aye, He said we cuid be th'gither as lang as we regard this kinship oan ainlie a human base … Sae hee haw tae dae wi' us as nations. Isn't it barry? He wull an' a' say it tae ye in body whin ye don't hawp me."  
"… I really must talk to him. I mean.. I don't want any bad surprises. But sacré bleu.. .. if this is true.. Oh mon dieu, Écosse! Alasdair! This is so awesome! I am so happy!", so happy that the blonde cried tears of happiness. Was it a dream?  
"A'm sae happy tae! Let's gilravage this exposition th'gither! ", a happy Scotsman appeared always so unusual that people would be scared…

"Arthur, it's true whit ye granted us?", Alasdair asked, as his younger brother descended the stairs from the platform. He looked unusually calm and … good-looking. A true gentleman.  
"Of course I did. Do you want it on paper? …Good day, Francis."  
„…Are you sick, Angleterre? You are so… humble. And polite.", the Frenchman looked at the younger nation like he had seen an Alien.  
"Papa!", Canada cried out and rushed by to glomp his French father. They hadn't seen each other for almost half a century. The boy had now grown into a man. He was a little taller than Francis now and wearing glasses.  
"Matthieu! You have grown so much!"  
Arthur smiled. „I have changed also. I have become a gentleman and… I have also learned alot…"  
England was fairly ignored still.  
America came along to see his brother. They looked real similar now… but it was clear that Alfred was the louder and more active one. So active that he could be described as hyperactive. Or Matthieu on the other hand was the silent one.

"I must say that it had been a very good idea to gather all the nations here.", France complimented England – who in turn turned beet red.  
"I-it's not my idea… but thanks. If you would not mind, we could see the trade fair together. Everyone of us. …Ahem, and may I introduce you to my new colonies? Australia and New Zealand. They're not that new as you can see, but they have managed to come here today."  
"I see… Bonjour.", so these were the two boys with the thick eyebrows.  
And thus, the not-so small group went down to see what the world had to offer. They saw several stands from: India who basically showed what his country was famous for: Curry and excellent colourful fabrics. Francis could see a new trend coming up.  
Then China with several specialities from its country, mainly calligraphy, special paper and fabrics.  
Japan presented some new machines. The nation had lived a long time in isolation but now caught up on the western nations with their technology. Still, he was kind of stiff when presenting his products.

America could present a huge variety of products. Among them a sewing machine caught the attention of the Frenchman. He watched closely as the presenter demonstrated how it worked.  
"You're ferr interested in that thing, aren't ye?", Alasdair whispered into the ear of the blonde who smiled.  
"Oui, I think this is worth an investment. But it is going to be so expensive when it comes out for normal people…", after all most exhibitions would be fabricated for manufactures, not for normal peoples households. "It's from America also… meh."  
"Eh? Did I hear my name? What's the matter, Francy pants?"  
„…What did you just call me?"  
„You want a sewing machine? … If you want, I could lower the price a bit, yup.", the taller blonde grinned. "I still have a debt with you, right? You helped me in the war."  
"… Oui, I did!", the Frenchman did not need to think for a long time. He just had to use the opportunity.  
"See? And that's why the sewing machine is coming one step closer to your home! No problem at all, right? But it might be good if you present them to your friends. Spread rumours across your country – for everyone who is not here today. You can do that, right?", Alfred asked.  
"Advertisement? …Of course. Meh… I knew it would not be for nothing. You're smart."  
"Hehehehe!"

Canada was presenting ways to get the juice of a certain tree – Maple Syrup. It was essential for the nutrition of any Canadian, and certainly something for export.

The next Pavillions were for the Europeans that were /not/ British. Spain presented artwork and fabrics that were specially made. But also new kinds of knives that he had developed.  
France was able to present also new fabrics, then a new way to get gold, silver and other mineral through a chemical way by extracting it from stones that had no visible minerals in them. Besides that of course new kitchen utensils and ways of cooking.  
Belgium would present new candys, mostly chocolate, and other things that would come in handy. Netherlands was more one to present machinery, and also weaponry.

The German pavilion presented mainly also machinery and weaponry. Among there was the expositions main attraction, the dinghy. A small boat made of rubber that could be inflated. People have never seen such a thing before!  
Another handy thing was the dishwasher. It was actually only a cupboard in which a rubber garden hose was held into. The water was supposed to brush off the 'dirt' by brute force…definitely something for the future.  
What Francis really made gasp was the fact that there was Prussia and… a person that resembled the Holy Roman Empire who were housing the presentations.  
"Gilbert… ist das? (is that?)", he pointed towards Ludwig.  
Gilbert however looked angry towards the Frenchman. He took the blonde to the side to talk in private.  
„How dare you showing up like this…Well. … Yes, he is there. This is my little brother. But he does not remember anything. So basically you killed whom I knew. You killed my little brother. This one…", the albino looked to Ludwig for a moment. "Is completely empty."  
France didn't know what to say. Was there a point in happiness? Ludwig was alive after all. …So nations did not die at all. But the injury had certainly taken the memory from the boy.  
"He does remember simple things like eating… and dressing and stuff. But from the time I picked him up, he does not remember anyone he met. I had to introduce myself once again! Do you have any idea how shitty that is?"  
„… No. Of course not. But… It was not me who did it. It was my men and I also take responsibility. I am very sorry - Es tut mir sehr Leid! But I cannot make it unhappen. You know that very … ?"  
Tears fell from the face of the Prussian.  
„I know it … it cannot be undone. … it cannot be undone."

George (Ireland) appeared. "Hey, France, where have you been? Come, you have to see this! It is the Irish stand! After this it is the turn of the Scottish one!"

The last part was the best. Shown were the British Exhibits, fabulous machinery, progress everywhere.  
Scotland was very proud to present his products. Despite being in the UK here he was independent. The best Scottish Exhibit was a machine that could weave Tartan pattern very fast. At least faster than any human would be able to. The fabric itself was not really fine… the machine was designed for thicker threads, but it was still one step into the right direction.

The end of the day was usually celebrated with fireworks… the Chinese and Japanese would conquer each other with their supremacy on this field.  
It was dragons lighting up the night sky, gigantic flowers challenging the stars. A magnificent show. Fireworks had been in the European world ever since the middle ages… or rather shortly afterwards. But these were nothing against the expert fireworks of the east Asian nations.

"I am so happy I can take you home with me… or I can just go to your home! … You're mine again. Lawfully mine. Forever.", France whispered as he stood beside the tall redhead and watched the fireworks. With his husband being so tall he was of course seeing both Alasdair and the fireworks.  
"Aye… Whin Arthur does nae care, we kin remain th'gither. Aye th'gither. Ah huv bin waiting fur this time fur sae lang. … kin ah shift tae yer steid?"  
"Of course. …Do you have a lot of luggage? How were you living anyway?"  
Scotland roughly explained how he had been living in the past years. Did he have much to get over to Paris? No, not really… Nothing would keep him from Francis anymore.

After the Exhibition had ended with a huge celebration, the building was moved to Sydenham (England) and used as a Museum. Sadly, the Crystal Palace was burnt down in 1936…

Two years later, two Exhibitions at one time took place: One in the United States in New York… which surprisingly also had a similar building but even more monumental. A 'New York Crystal Palace'. Unfortunately it also burnt down several years after the Exhibition. The other took place in Dublin, Ireland – which was also in the United Kingdom at that time… It was not as much of a show-off as the one in America but convenient for the people that lived closer to Ireland than to America.

Two years further, in 1855, it was Frances turn to present the world an unforgettable Exposition! The "Exposition Universelle".  
This exposition was of course meant to be better than the one in England 4 years ago. The French would always put their efforts in becoming better and remaining better than the English, no matter if it was war or something else.  
The important Exhibitions place was a temporary Exhibitions-palace that was set between Champs-Élysées (main road in Paris) and the Seine (River in Paris). The show went from May 1st until October 31st in 1855.

With the imperial Order of Napoleon III. - He was a nephew of Napoleon I. – from March 8th of 1853, it was settled that France had to have the Exhibition of 1855. Moreover, the Exhibition should also include a special show on beautiful arts – les Beaux-arts.  
Three people worked in the art section and the section for agriculture and industries took up to four people to plan, organise and administrate.

The large building of the Industrials-palace was built with the help of the architect Jean-Marie Victor Viel and the Engineers Alexis Barrault and Georges Bridel. In the middle of the 208 m long main façade was a monumental portal with sculptures of Élias Robert and Georges Diebolt. In 1897, the Industrials-Palace was removed and to make place for the 'Grand Palais',

The French World Exhibition was also the first one to allow art from other periods of time. The architect Hector Lefuel created the Palais des Beaux-Arts in Renaissancestyle in which 28 Nations could expose 4979 artworks of 2176 artists.  
The main attractions where the Beton boat, espresso machine and matches. Other Exhibitioners such as a chocolate manufacturer and a paper manufacturer from Germany and a Scythe maker from Austria were earned gold medals for being the best of their class.


	53. Chapter 52

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The Scottish had economically benefitted from the Napoleonic wars.  
After that time starting from 1815, the Scottish consciousness regained their value. Then again it was something new.  
It was the time of Enlightenment in which people learned the actual physics of the world that had been falsified by the Catholic church for so long. But you could not keep a truth silent forever.

The Glasgow School, which had been developed in the late 19th century and now was flourishing, produced a distinctive blend of influences including the Celtic Revival and the Arts and Crafts Movement, and Japonism, which found favour throughout the modern art world of continental Europe and helped define the Art Nouveau style.  
This period saw a process of rehabilitation for highland culture. By the end of the Napoleonic Wars, Tartan had already been adopted for highland regiments in the British army.  
The Tartan was still abandoned by ordinary people while in the 1820s, as a part of the Romantic revival, Tartan and the Kilt were adopted by members of social elite all across Europe, prompted by the popularity of works of Scottish novelists.  
The world paid attention to their literary redefinition of Scottishness, as they forged an image largely based on characteristics in polar opposition to those with England and modernity. This new identity made it possible for Scottish culture to become integrated into a wider European and North American contest – perhaps also because of the many emigrants living in Northern America due to the famines of which many Scotland had experienced. The other reason was tourists. Those that knew Scotland wanted to see all the bagpipes, Tartans and the whole culture.  
The Scottish linen industry could not keep up with the massive upsurge in demand for the famous garments even more so after the visit of King George IV. in 1822, when the king had arrived in Tartan's clothing.  
Queen Victoria then later on helped rebuilding the Scottish identity.

Scotland /him/self in the meantime was enjoying life to its fullest over in Paris where he was living with Francis ever since the World Exhibition in London in 1851.  
It had been snowing an awful lot already in this late autumn, but Francis still insisted on taking his lover out to the huge palace of Versailles.  
The place didn't look that bad. After becoming an Emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte had taken care that the whole palace of Versailles and also the Garden and everything that was part of the area was rebuilt, restored.  
Still, the place was so empty. Like a ghost city. Abandoned in a hurry and long time ago. The thick snow made it look like it was sleeping away.  
At night time the electric lamps that would lighten up the cities of that time but had not reached Versailles yet.

"And here is the farm like place that had been built for Madame Marie Antoinette. … it would have just been the place for you to stay at. I know you prefer farm life over city life.", Francis said as he walked through knee deep snow. He was freezing, but it was bearable.  
"Aye, it is… bonny. … geeza a closer keek?"  
The Scotsman wondered if these buildings were only for show or if they could be actually used.  
"Of course. Go ahead."

Alasdair walked towards the old fence, opened the door which creaked in the process and continued his way towards one of the buildings, to the pigeon loft.  
Inside there was still signs that pigeons had been held here. Feathers here and there. Alasdair picked up one of them and twisted it in his hand. Then he looked around.  
"These buildings are built in the style of the Normandie…It reminds me a lot on our little house. You know… Our first house when we were married."  
"Aye."  
That had been it. This was why it looked so familiar.  
"Tae ill we can't bide 'ere juist lik' this. Ah wid lik' it… a lot."  
"I can tell.", Francis huffed. Despite being in the house the cloud that his hot breath made showed how cold it was. It was no difference to the cold outside.  
Alasdair dropped the feather and smiled towards the younger one.  
"Awright, ye're chankin' a' ower. Shouldn't we be gaun hame?"  
"Uhm… Oui. .. I don't mind. It was my idea to go outside after all. … Are you cold?"  
"Nh. Na. Nae pure. Ye ken, bein' a Nordic nation."

There was also a nice little watermill, a fishery, a dairy, the house of the queen of course, two smaller towers, and several simple farm houses. Very idyllic. This place had been built just because poor Marie Antoinette didn't feel home to France.  
Francis was a little annoyed over this fact. How could someone not feel home to France? Certainly some people felt so much home here that they would seek in taking over the country.

"Now I am getting cold… I want to go home.", the nation was shivering.  
"'greed."

When returning to the flat Francis had been using for the time after the Revolution, they headed for a bath. Letting in the water and preparing it just like back in the time when they had been freshly married.  
Just a few things were different. The house had been modernised… now water came from out of a tap, and actually into a bathtub that could not be removed. The tub was made from Enamel, not wood.  
The tub was a little larger than the one they had shared in their early relationship, but ever since then they had also grown a good amount.  
"Why must be so tall, Écosse? … You're still taller than America and Canada – together. How comes?"  
"…Hell if ah knew.", Alasdair simply replied and stared at Francis naked body. The blonde also had changed a lot. He had grown in height… and grown body hair. An awful lot so even if he was blonde the hairs were very well visible. The famine was also still visible on Francis body – as much as on Alasdairs. The bones were easily visible through the skin, especially the ribs and the spinal cord in the back.

"What are you staring at?", the Frenchman blushed and tried his best to create a bit of foam with some soap. The redhead had been a little too quick with letting in the water, before the blonde could have put in anything that would create foam.  
Francis remembered that he sometimes just had the problem that Alasdair was faster than he could tidy up behind him.  
On the other hand it had been the things he had missed… to tidy up the socks or other stuff the older one had been lying around. Or doing the dishes, despite he had already cooked.  
Now it didn't happen as much anymore. The Scotsman would help way more. Especially because both had the thought that very soon they would be able to get one of these modern dishwashers that would ease their lives.

The sewing machine Alfred had promised Francis had been delivered a few years ago. It was the year 1855. Francis often used the sewing machine, though the use itself was rather complicated. The machine had no motor yet, but the stitches were pretty good and it was way faster and easier than to make them by hand. Even the Scotsman could handle it…

"Oh, A'm juist figuring…howfur bonny mah guidwife haes become."  
"…Wife. … since when does a wife have a beard?"  
"Ye ca' this a fluff?", Alasdair chuckled. At this time he actually had no beard, but sideburns for it was the Victorian time. Both nations knew that the tall man used to have a real thick beard on the lower half of his face. "A'd ower say ye huv th' fluff o' a 14 year auld yin… 'n' this is an' a' mainly th' reason how come ah kent ye in Waterloo. Ye aye keek sae young. Lik' th' day whin we foremaist met."  
Francis was silent for a moment. "…The day when we first met. It appears to me… to be lifetimes ago. Such a long time."

In the silence of the moment, only the clock from the living room was audible.  
"It haes bin mony lifetimes ago. Ower 10 centuries, A'd say."  
"Mhm. …I think we were different people back then too. At least I was. I knew nothing about battlefields. Not even how to handle a sword properly."  
Alasdair smiled as the memories returned and flooded the room like a river and remained in it like a moving kaleidoscope. Francis sunk deeper into the tub.

"Ehmm.. for.. another thing… Ugh… I don't know if it is tactless to say…", Francis started to play with a strand of his own hair. It was still long enough to be bound into a ponytail apart from the strands in the front that would frame his face. "We have been together for more than a year now… and I was wondering… we had no sex until now."  
The cheeks of the redhead matched the hair colour of said person. "Sex… mmh…"  
"That's… unless you don't want to anymore. … or cannot?", the last part the Frenchman whispered. He didn't dare to actually suspect Alasdair to not be able. But god knows what the older one had been through.  
… Now he wasn't rushing things either in his own opinion. The blonde had almost expected for them to come together in the first week of their living together again. And if it was only to relive old memories. Sex had been just a part of their life like sitting on the Dinner table and enjoying their meal together.  
The Frenchman had figured that an average adult person simply needed sexual activity as much as any human being needed air, food, drink and sleep. It was a natural and very essential and maybe animalic need. Who was humankind to put themselves over animals?  
Besides that it was really just an experience to share with the most loved person.

"Ye're pure aye cute.", the redhead finally chuckled and tilted his head. Then he moved his legs between those of France to reveal that the younger one was already erect. "How come dinnae ye ask earlier?"  
"I didn't want to appear rude. I didn't get you here only for sex. … I wanted to show you the other reasons before that."  
Alasdair laughed. Nervously, Francis joined the laughter but was cut short with a stroke on his manhood which caused him to moan. That redhead had used his foot!  
"Then ah don't huv ye hauld yer horses ony langer …"  
And that was it. Their love was a short, but very passionate act. The warm water in the tub helped the process very well. With the soap everything was even more slippery.

After their little intercourse, Francis was a lot less stressed. It was like a drug he had been missing. He was preparing a quick meal for them to enjoy and thought of what to do else on such a day.  
Perhaps cuddling and warming up each other was the best option. Alasdair agreed on that.  
Eventually they slept in together.

On the next day they went on a Christmas market. Markets haven't changed that much through the ages. Only the people appeared cleaner. Hygiene had been an issue in enlightenment. The people before used to believe that bathing and showering were bad for their health. Not it was the other way around….  
However, on the Christmas market, lovely scents filled the air. Odour of candy, of hot drinks and items that were known for their fragrance: Cinnamon, hot Maroni, Candles and Pine trees.  
And among the crowd that was pushing itself through the market was our favourite couple: Francis Bonnefoy and Alasdair McKirkland.

"This is what I love most about December.", Francis said. Homosexuality was still widely condemned. In the crowd no one minded when Francis clinged to his husband.  
"Me too…such things also never change. They just become larger."  
It was already late afternoon when they went over the Christmas market. The sun had set some time ago and the electric lamps got lit automatically, which created a magical atmosphere.  
The lovers drank some Christmas punch and watched the others still walking through the mass of human bodies.  
"Should we arrange some family meeting for Christmas? Like, inviting your brothers and sister?"  
"Aye. We should… I don't know if Arthur would like that. He has become so strange. So unpredictable."  
"He could still say no… but it would be polite. I just hope my home is big enough. So it'll be… Arthur, George, Gwynn.. we should also invite our children. Matthieu and Mhairi. I would have introduced you to Michelle, but she has been claimed by Arthur during my absence. God, I was so stupid…"  
"Your home isn't that big. Are you sure you want to invite so many people?"  
"Oui…It would be impolite to not invite them all."  
Alasdair frowned. He'd rather have his wife for himself, especially at such a night. In France you would celebrate Christmas on the evening of the 24th, not the morning of the 25th.

In the end it came totally different. Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, had decided to show his pride by inviting everyone, even the East Asian countries, in short everyone he had befriended in the short time of his independence, to the Christmas celebrations. It had been hardly an effort for him to organise a house that was big enough for everyone to spend the night in.


	54. Chapter 53

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

In each and every one of us are little time machines, so the poet says. The dreams and desires bring us to the future, the memories to the past.  
Francis was dwelling in the past these days. He was thinking about his very early childhood. The one in which he had started to walk on his own. To make decisions without Rome or who ever. These legs that had brought him ever so far…  
Scientists had figured that human would circle the whole globe some times in his life, when summarising all the walks a human being had taken all his / her life. For a nation it was of course a whole lot more. And even more.

His childhood memories were alive in the rays of an afternoon sun in late spring, as he sat beside Alasdair on a lake in some gardens near Paris. The couple would have to travel further outside as the metropolis grew. Now so even more as electricity and steam locomotive ruled.

Francis remembered how he, with unsure feet, had walked across the northern Italy, coming closer to his own land. Rome had taken him to his heart… later he would know that Paris, the heart of France, was based on a Roman city. It was a little further away from Lutetia, the beautiful and very old heart of Gallia, his mother.  
Scotland always confirmed that Gallia had been very beautiful, while Francis couldn't even remember her face, her voice or her smell.  
But he could never forget the first sweet thing he had eaten. Or what kind of games he had played in the wilderness all on his own, wherever his feet took him.  
Sometimes he would collect some random leaves or berries and squish them between two awesome stones he had found earlier.

The blonde had kept the stones for almost 2 centuries. Stone was something that lasted, unlike the clothes he was wearing – which was no reason to actually dress in stones, mind you. But it was strange to think over such things.  
Other games he had played, was… not really playing. Sometimes he had just stripped naked to swim in rivers or lakes or whatever water he would find. Despite being so tiny he had never worried about any danger as long as he felt secure in his own limits. Besides swimming – which in the end he had taught himself – he loved to climb trees. His young blue eyes could see all around and it was always so much to see!  
Now with him being so old… he had never grown tired of seeing things. He was surprised himself that he still needed no glasses.

"Whit urr ye thinking noo?", Alasdair asked with a soft grin on his face. He still looked so young… and still like a very sly (and happy) fox. Francis loved this view most. It animated him to return the smile. In a corner of the Frenchman's mind he wondered how much trouble the poor redhead did have with him when they both had been younger.  
"I'm thinking you're pretty."  
"…pretty.", Alasdair blushed. "Naah… A'm nae bonny. At least nae a maiter o ye."  
"Hahaha, you silly fox!"

"Mmh… Noo is th' time. Soon it wull be Beltane. Dinnae ye say ye hawp in ghosts oan Halloween?"  
"…Oui. But only on Halloween and as far as I know, Beltane is not Halloween – which you call Samhain. Beltane is the counterpart, so you could say."  
"Aye. At least ye care fur th' knowledge o' th' celts."  
"Ugh… I am not related to them, but with Bretagne, I inherited some of that too.", France tilted his head.  
"Anyway, oan Beltane a'm waantin' us tae visit a special steid. Huv ye ever heard o' stane Henge?"  
"Non, I haven't."  
"It's a collection o' stanes that huv bin arranged in a circular shape… Whin yer thare at th' richt time, ye see th' winter or summer sun thro' some o' th' larger stanes. Fur th' normal yak it's simply a calendar…. bit fur us, it's mair than this."  
"Us? You mean, you and your siblings."  
"…Don't pretend tae nae see th' fairies. Bit this isn't aboot fairies. It kin an' a' be a time machine."  
"Quoi? (What?)"  
"Ah jalouse ah huv tae tak' ye wi' me, sae ye kin see. It's solid tae explain."  
"I take that this is merely an excuse to go on a Rendezvous with moi.", France gave a mocking grin.  
"…O' coorse.", the redhead rolled his eyes and chuckled.

On May 1st, the Nations stood by stone henge and admired its construction. By then it was not as much a tourist magnet as it would become later. But already the construction was withered, covered in moss partially. Only faintly its former positions from the bronze age could be assumed. The whole thing stands in England but apparently, Arthur was too busy to even care.

"It's summer, but still very cold here.", Francis whined.  
"Juist bear wi' me, it's completely worth it. Hawp me."  
Alasdair led his partner to the middle of the whole construction, showed the younger one around. Then he wandered to a spot outside the thing.  
"Watch closely. 'n' then rame th' steps efter me. Ye kin dae this, richt? … 'n' think o' phantasy, o' fairies 'n' unicorns. Or o' mah dear mukker Nessie.", then the Scotsman started to move towards the Stone henge, as if he was dancing. It didn't look simple, but France tried his best to mimic the steps.  
The Frenchman felt very stupid as he followed his husband closer to the centre of the stone circle.  
But as soon as he had arrived, the environment around them began to change. The first thing he saw was him and Alasdair moving backwards through the circle. Then nothing really happened but the trees became shorter and shorter. The clouds moved heavily and the sun blinked until the actual way of the sun moving was visible. The seasons were also visible: winter, autumn, summer, spring. Then other people, but rarely, were seen. Visitors to Stone henge.  
"…What is this black wizardry?", Francis gasped. But the Scotsman held his hand and smiled.  
Then time slowed down and the whole stone henge was visible. The stone henge as it was a complete (all stones present) and upright circle.  
The time stopped, going back to its normal flow.

Without much further ado, the redhead went out of the circle and more or less dragged the blonde with him.  
There was a street leading from the stone circle to a smaller circle, but with a gathering of tents around and a river nearby.  
The people wandering around here didn't care as much for the newcomers, no matter how strangely dressed they appeared. But then a beautiful woman with long ginger hair stopped and smiled brightly at Alasdair. "mo cridhe! (my heart!)"  
„Moarn, Màthair (hello mother).", the Scotsman said.  
"Ciamar a tha thu (How are you)?"  
„Tha gu math, tapadh leat (Fine, thank you)."

The only place Francis remembered to have his husband talk like this was when he talked to his brother Ireland… And Ireland looked a whole lot like this woman. … It was obviously the mother of the Kirklands – Britannia!  
Such a beautiful woman… it was his mother-in-law, the Frenchman figured. Besides that, he loved to hear this 'gaelic'. The earthy sound that their tongues made felt so delicious in his ears - Especially when Alasdair spoke them out with his deep voice. The voice sounded a lot more different then when he talked in English (Well, what he would call English…).

„seo am… ‚an Fhraing' (He is… 'France'). … Your son-in-law, mother."  
The blonde flinched a little and regretted that Alasdair had just decided to stop their chattering in gaelic.  
"And then you tease me to talk in gaelic? Where are your manners, young man?", Britannia asked, not really annoyed… she knew her son. Scotland had often been one of the rebellious. But she smiled at Francis and welcomed him in Gallic, the old language of Gaul. Francis could guess what she had said, but he didn't remember the language at all. He possibly never even learnt it.  
Francis grimaced.  
"Ah teuk him 'ere, fur ah wanted 'them' tae huv a special day."  
"Now you make your mother proud."  
"Aye. He mibeez aye, mibeez naw doesn't mind her. Mair o' a reason tae come 'ere. … Bit He wid nae hawp intae mysteries.", Alasdair chuckled.  
"I can hear you~," Francis sang. "Now… I would not say that I believe into fairies, but I truly believe that the Kirklands are supernatural. I never even doubted that."  
While Scotland smiled satisfied, Britannia started to warm up an old story of Scotty's childhood… like those in which he wetted his bed. The satisfied smile disappeared and suddenly the younger redhead was busy on going to France, no, to Gaul.  
"Wait, Alas… you have to change clothes. You cannot walk around like this!"

"Alas? This sounds like Alice.", France mocked.  
They both changed into Bronze-Age clothes to continue their way.  
"Are you really making me see her? What if she does not want to? Besides… I don't speak Gallic."  
"That won't be a kinch. It's a Celtic leid … 'n' then she shuid be able tae speak at least Latin. Thare wull be yin wey or anither."  
France went silent as they went, thinking about so many things. Suddenly he was so close to meeting his mother. What was she like?

"What is this place, Alas…?"  
"It's th' bygane. Th' bygane as we ken it. Bit it's moreover a parallel bygane. Oor … oor parents dae bide 'ere lik' normally, bit thay ur wi'oot thair duty as nations. Afore thay settled 'ere 'twas a dimension wi'oot ony nations. It's perfect fur retirement, parntly."

A few time later, they were standing in Lutetia. The city was quite busy, but the upcoming Parisiensis was gaining fame. By the time of the 19th century, Paris had long taken over the spot Lutetia had been on. Paris was a very huge city and was still growing at any time.  
"I have never seen a city like this…", Francis admitted. Now he was understanding how young he in fact was. …Alasdair knew this kind of places, not only because he used Stonehenge as a time travelling machine. It was much likely the place in which the Scotsman had spent his childhood and early teenage time. "Dae ye think we wull fin' her 'ere?"  
"It is her heart. .. I wouldn't know."

The two young men wandered through the busy street which basically was only a muddy road. Horses and wooden carts were the only transport elements here. Then Alasdair took Francis on his elbow and dragged him sideways.  
"Gaul!"  
A beautiful woman in her 30s turned around. She was on the market and just about to buy some vegetables. "Do I know you, sir?", she asked in Gallic.  
"It's me, Alasdair. Th' son o' Britannia."  
Her face turned from unawareness to surprise – a happy one. "Oh my, you have grown so much since the last time I saw you! You … you have become a real man."  
The redhead blushed slightly and frowned. Francis frowned even more as he could not understand what they were talking about.  
"Aye, it haes bin a while…Uh, whit's mair important, a'm waantin' tae introduce ye tae … tae yer son."

Gaul's attention now was drawn to the blonde young man she resembled. "My… my son."  
The bag with her groceries dropped into the mud as she raised her hands to her own face, staring in disbelief at her child.  
Francis didn't know how to react. Actually he felt nothing towards that woman, a thing he had feared for a very long time. There was no attachment as he had been parted from her before he could even get to know her. He decided to pick up the bag of groceries. The eggs were partially broken.  
"Are you really my son?", she repeated, now trying in latin after the Scotsman had advised her to.  
"Yes…", Francis murmured, remembering the language he had abandoned for a long time. But for now he didn't like being put under pressure. He thought she'd been expecting that he'd tear up and cling to her. There was no way this was going to happen.

Realising that there was an awkward moment, Alasdair interrupted them again and decided that they should go to something like a pub. There, they sat and could clean the bag.  
"I'm sorry about your eggs.", Francis said stiffly.  
"Don't be sorry. They're… they're just eggs. I mean…It doesn't happen every day that the long lost son reappears, right?", she remembered the time she had spent with her son when he had been a baby. The time she had been pregnant with him. He had been a rather shy baby and there was always some delay in his development. But when there was delay it was only because he had been too shy to express himself, to actually make that step.  
"Mh. …I think I know how you feel.", Francis put up a sad smile. He had reacted the same when he had been able to see Matthieu again. …Matthieu! Why hadn't he invited him? Gaul was his grandmother after all. "I have a son, too"  
"A grandson? I bet he is just as handsome…", she smiled carefree.  
"Alas, could I use this gate more often to come here?", Francis asked in interest. It was a difference when he was able to visit his mother every day then to when he was able to visit her only this one time.  
"You can see her any time.", the redhead smiled, obviously satisfied about what he had achieved.

"How… how was your time with Rome? When have you been able to escape?", Gaul asked.  
"It was… a long time ago. I was actually put out of his house before I could decide myself. I was a baby still. I don't quite remember it. But I remember that I travelled across your place after that."  
"…I know a bit more.", Alasdair announced. "Some time, King Arthur was taking over France and beating Rome back behind his borders… at this time I was taking care of little Francis. But King Arthur failed to beat Rome for good… so Francis fell back into Rome's hands."  
Francis head turned slowly… if looks could kill, they surely would. And Alasdair would be dying then.  
"How comes you never told me? You are my goddamn wife.", Francis said in rude English.  
"Guidwife? a'm yer guidman, you're mah guidwife. Forby that, ye ne'er asked."  
"How was I supposed to ask about a subject I couldn't have possibly known? What the hell? I was just a fucking baby. How was I supposed to remember?"

Gaul didn't know what they were talking about, but it was certainly a fight. "Stop that, you two. Now."  
She certainly looked angry.  
"I'm sorry."  
"…We'll continue this at home.", France fretted and then continued in Latin. "I'm sorry too."  
"Francis…", Gaul smiled. "You really are a lot like me. Even though I did not have the chance to raise you as my child, you fight gingerly and you don't trust anything that you are told easily. I should be happy about this fact. Besides… you've grown to be so big and strong."  
She reached out to hold his hand – which the Frenchman allowed. "And I am glad that you are more lucky in love than I was."  
"I'm …I really am sorry for what Rome did to you. I mean.. I could only assume… for when I was older. It made me hate the very fact that I was alive. I feared that I might become like Rome when I was getting older. Now I figured that I am neither like you or like Rome, but my own person as I the people around me have formed me. And the people that are forming me – France. They are not even descendants of the Gallish…but they regard themselves as such, because the country they live in still have the signs and the beauty of Gaul… of you, dear mother."  
The woman was moved at those words, though she had been shocked at first… her son hated himself? Why couldn't she have prevented this? "…We should meet more often, my son."  
"Yes, definitely!", Francis eyes brightened up. "We have a lot of time to make up. I don't know how long I could stay at this place. Alasdair took me here first time."  
"I see."  
"Ugh… and… Alasdair is.. my boyfriend. I have been married to him when I was a little older than 400 years."  
"You are married to him?"  
"Yes. And like I expected, he never told you anything, though I have the expression that you know each other for a good amount of time."  
"Yes, he visited me earlier… when he was younger. … It must have been several centuries ago. But I also kept contact with Britannia, his mother. She is good company."  
"I'm glad, you have friends here."

They chatted away that afternoon. And sooner than they wanted, night had fallen and the two younger nations had to go home, to their time. The promise had been given that they'd keep on visiting the older nation.  
On the way home, after the passage through the Stonehenge, France couldn't hold it any longer.

"What the hell were you thinking? I have been waiting to ask you that."  
"Wha'?"  
"Our marriage. You knew all along that you had taken care of me when I was a baby. What were you thinking? Could you even feel something romantic for me? How could you think of something else than Milk bottles and diapers? Do you know how gross that is? It's perverted!"  
"Diapers? … ah ne'er did that. Ah hud... Nurses dae that.", Alasdair frowned. "Ah mostly juist played wi' ye 'n' fed ye."  
France heavily blushed and was at loss of words – but still angry.  
"Bit ye wur sic a cute bairn. 'n' easy tae handle. Th' ainlie thing ah cuid hardly dae wis goin awa ye whin bedtime hud come. Ye ne'er wanted me tae gang. 'n' ah think that hasn't changed a lot.", Alasdair pulled Francis into his arms and kissed him gently. "Din be mad."  
"I… don't know.", Francis felt his resistance melting and kissed him back.

"Uhm… another thing I was wondering about.", Francis started as they came closer to the nightly Paris. The cities were lit by electric lights. Here and there in the houses were lights also. It was like life-lights. "You are a man of the past. You have spent more time living a life without any electricity, flowing, any comfort. Can you cope with the today's life at all?"  
"…Amurnay that auld, Francis.", Scotland looked tired.  
"I'm sorry."  
"Din be sorry. Bit seriously, ah din cop sae auld."

France hated that when they entered cities that they had to stop holding hands until they were inside Francis' apartment. People developed, but certain things like homophobia would not change.


	55. Chapter 54

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

In 1870, another war clouded europe. Moreover, this time it was France against the German states (Northern German Federation, Kingdoms of Bavaria and Württemberg in the south and Grand Duchy of Baden (Baden-Württemberg is a state of today's Germany in the south).  
In this war, France had declared the Northern Germany Federation war, the other three states joined forces with the northern German state to force the French back to their place.

Within few weeks in the summer Napoleon III. was captured. The French however managed to continue as the ‚Third Republique' and was only after the fall of Paris ready to declare the pre-peace treaty of Versailles – compared to other wars, this one was rather short. In May 1871, the war was settled in favour of the Germans who achieved some territory along with that: Alsace-Lorraine.  
As an aftermath ‚revanchism' was introduced to the French. It appeared that there was certain anger after the loss and a will to pay it back to the German whenever opportunity was given. With the war also destruction had come to the French – even more so after the invention of dynamite in 1866. A thing, with which they couldn't really cope despite the fact that they had been the attackers in the first place.

In the same year of 1871, the Tuileries, the old palace of the French kings was set on fire by the Parisian Commune, and burnt to the ground except for two pavilions. The few ruins that were left soon were taken away by thieves. One part of the Tuileries later became the Louvre, a famous museum.

In the year 1874, the French had decided to actually make a gift for the American, right in the time for their 100th anniversary of Independence from the English! It was the Americans who had inspired them to make a Revolution also, so it is said later on. Only when you look closely at it you'd see that they hardly have something in common. Still, in the American Revolution war, France had played a role as a patron.  
Alfred welcomed the older man on the harbour.

"It's already been a century since you became independent, huh? It looks like your big brother will become an old man pretty soon…", France said, patting the younger nation.  
"Haha, thanks for the congrats! These 100 years went by in a flash."  
"I have a present to give to commemorate your centennial. Would you like to take it?"  
For France, it had been a lot of trouble bringing the huge present. Alfred didn't suspect anything.  
"Really? I'd be happy to, France!"

Not so much later, giant pieces of a large statue were clustered in front of America. The poor lad didn't know how to deal with it. It was a large puzzle.  
"I…I have to put it together myself?"  
France had never thought that Alfred might be not able to do it. After all, the boy had when he had been a lot smaller, toyed around with a big bison like it was nothing. And  
In the end, the citizens of America, young and old, gave donations and their cooperation with this project. What was thought an impossibility at one point, the statue of Liberty was safely assembled in New York with no casualties, and was from there on a national symbol to America.

When France heard that the young nation had finally made it (after months of effort), he visited him once again to see the result.  
"It's a really beautiful present now that all Americans have put their strengths into it. You have my sincerest thanks.", Alfred cheered.  
"Hearing you say that makes my hard work in this well worth it.", France grinned. "…Do you not find the slight resemblance of me in the statue magnifique?"  
"I don't see a resemblance at all!", the young one cried, obviously denying that there was something. With his he looked a lot like England, the Frenchman found.

The inventions of these times came out almost every day. There was the telephone, the cinema, the fridge, the gramophone… On sides of agriculture and mining, there was also improvement. New ways of achieving the goals with less effort and getting out more value. Soon enough the life would be a lot more comfortable, but also smaller. Especially when telephones improved and the net was enlarged.  
Of course, the nations also had their special memory of these events.  
Like, the first movie they saw, the first person they spoke to over the phone or just the first piece of music that they heard (in bad quality) over the gramophone.

Some people and nations were scared of the new things. There were this 'mystical voices' coming from "out of the box". Others understood the technique and used it so much that they had to buy them new often or learnt to repair them.

Francis remembers it like this that one day, a few men came to install a new 'telephone' in his home. A wooden box with some metal pieces. It wasn't that cheap either. As France was not a person for mechanical issues, Alasdair had to be involved into the whole thing. The phone had to be used as follows: There was a crank that had to be turned quickly, then you had to hold the 'earpiece' onto your ear and then speak into the microphone. And then still there was things to do. A woman or man would sit in the connection office to which they got connected first and then you had to tell her who you wanted to phone. The person in charge would then connect you there by putting the plug into the right case. The office connector was sitting in front of a lot of cases, each depicting a possible connection.

"Weel, wha dae yi'll waant tae ca'?", Alasdair asked with a grin as the installers had gone.  
"Euh… I don't… I don't quite know if there is a connection to Canada.", Francis stared at the telephone as if it was some creature he had to arrange himself living with.  
"We cuid huv a go. 'n' if nae, then nae.", Alasdair smiled. Francis was tempted to tell him not to talk to the connection lady since his Scottish accent was so hard to understand. Another reason was that the lady from the connection office should not have the honour talking to Scotland at all… for it was France's husband. In the end but, Francis was too intimidated to actually use the phone, so Alasdair did it.

After approximately 10 minutes, the connection from France to Canada was pretty stable. The quality was bad but not interrupted by anything. Every word was audible.  
"Matha kin blether tae ye noo, wee prince.", the redhead exclaimed, with a Christmas-like smile. Francis took the earpiece and tried talking to the wooden box out of which apparently strange noises came.  
"â-âllo?"  
"Papa?", a happy voice quirked out of the earpiece. "Are you alright, Papa? I heard Dad's voice also. Is he with you?"  
"Oui, he is here. Without him we would not be able to talk so soon. I just got my new telephone… these electronic things are so scary!"  
They actually needed to shout through the phone. The connection cable over the Atlantic Ocean was not the best… and it would remain like this for a longer time. But still this was better than nothing. Also, France heard himself talking still when he had finished actually. The blonde figured that it was some kind of… retardation through the cables.  
After a short while of chatting (it all cost money), Francis let Alasdair talk to his son. It was some kind of event back in those days.

Another time, Francis and Alasdair went to one fair just to see a movie that they showed there. Back then it was little tents in which they presented their short films. They often were only in black and white. Language was not an issue as the movies didn't even have sound. Usually a person with an instrument stood underneath the screen and played while the film was on. The people were, for example, scared when it was a film in which a train was racing towards the viewers… so not so much when a guy with a piano was sitting between there.  
However, by now they were also showing other things than raging trains. One famous and favoured film was about a couple kissing.  
Soon, the people found out that dark cinema tents were perfect for to hide and kiss. The problem was that the films were really short still.

The gramophone was a much desired object to be bought by both Scotland and France. They shared their love for music and could talk about the differences on no end. Also, they loved to hear it when working on something. It was different from theatre or orchestra play. This way they could casually enjoy music, whenever they liked and whatever they felt the mood for. Possibly also with the invention of the gramophone, musical artists did big effort in becoming popular since way more people could buy music from one person or group.

Sorry, I'll end it here as I will write out two special chapters.


	56. Chapter 55 - Olympic Special

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

(France's POV… since I often wanted to do it and this is a Special Chapter C: )

Today has been rather hot. No wonder because I am on my way to Greece, my little brother. I took the train all the way through Italy, then several Slavic countries which names I can't even pronounce and then ended up by him.  
I had asked Écosse to come with me. He refused but now I am confident to know why. I would have stayed home now also considering the heat. My long blonde hair is literally sticking to my head and I don't like it when I am sweating like this. It's annoying.  
I cut my hair recently. I used to wear it in a long ponytail… it was so fancy. But now this is fine also – for a change. Alasdair has not seen it yet because I made it on the way to Greece. Italians are excellent Coiffeurs (that's French for hairdresser's).

As I told you that there are these Slavic nations whose names I can't tell… later on they were something like Romania, Slovakia… god I'm bad at Geographic's. But the countryside is beautiful. If it wasn't so difficult I would have taken some pictures for Alasdair to see. And the reason I got through there by train was actually… I only needed to show them my ticket and they were fine with that. No problem.

There is one more reason for me to visit He… Herakles was his name – I heard of Germans who had found some interesting 'Archeologic' relicts of Ancient times. Possibly the remains of the culture before the Ottoman Empire came there or when the Empire had freshly settled. Not so long ago, Greece has become independent from the Ottoman Empire. I find it good so… because I lost the Alliance to the Ottoman Empire some time ago. I don't think that we were on good terms though he had appeared often kind of helpful with wise remarks. I do think that he was very intelligent, not like a wild monster like a lot of people say he and his people are.

The heat becomes so intense… I want to take off my shirt. I wander around here for quite some time. The people here said that Herakles was somewhere here, but I only see barren naked soil which has been dried for ages appearantly…  
This boring environment actually makes me think. Non, it is not hallucinations!  
Anyway… this imperialism stuff of the others makes me sick. England, America, Germany and the two Italies fight each other with words and actions for their 'supreme' role in the world. I should be fighting with them? I don't know… my time is over, I am not in their age. I had my time in which French glory covered the globe. There is no need for that anymore.  
I have my redheaded lover, what could I ask for more? "… More Romance, that's it."

Just then some pillars came into my view and a single person digging and working in there. If you looked at it critically it already gave an elliptical shape… like an ancient stadium. I remember something like this from my early childhood when I still lived with Rome.  
The person that works here is none other than my brother Greece.  
"Hey Grèce, what are you digging at?"  
"Γαλλία (Francia)…Well I was…trying to excravate the… ruins that my mother had left me…", still just like in the time way back Greece was the kind to talk slow and hesitant. It was like he was asleep all the time.  
France didn't mind. The sun was hard to withstand anyway. By now the frenchman felt drenched in his clothes.

"This is a stadium of ancient times…", Greece explained as they sat together. The south European let his work rest for a while. "..and they used to celebrate a festival called… the Olympics here. …Mother used to watch …I think...no, wait… that's impossible."  
"Sorry, but I can't say I'm too interes…  
"All the competitions of the Olympics were men…and they all participated naked."  
"What an awesome festival! It can't get any better!", my mind works fast. Everyone naked… why has this event stopped from being made? And now… imagine all nations participating the Olympic games! … so many nice bodies to see… eh. .. And the women? After all we also have female nations.  
Greece tells me that only Geek males used to be allowed back then. And that the nakedness was introduced because one Participant of the games had lost his loincloth or something and still had won the race because winning had been more important to him. As a result, this new way of Olympic Games was introduced and women were banned.  
An exception has to be made for this problem.

I still spent some time at Athens. Luckily I could use the phone to keep contact with Alasdair. It was so refreshing to hear his voice and everything… so much more different than from the time right after the Act of Union… Those 100 years of loneliness in which I cried every night and hoped for the next day to catch a sign of life from Scotland…It had been a dark age.  
In the end I manage only one week in Greece in which I pick up some recipes, get some souvenirs (also some edible ones, like a Feta cheese) and get some cultural input. It had been the first … euh… how do I put it? … Some non-political vacation? But seriously, without Écosse, I manage only one week.

The long train-ride home is filled with anticipation. Also, I made sketches about how the modern day Olympic Games for us nations should be. Every nation should be able to participate. A little time should be left also until… so the nations could train their skills. And also just like back then several professions should be available, such as running, disk throwing and some other things… Either way I wait for Greece to come up with more archaeological results of what they used to have back then or I pick me a partner to discuss of more things. Alasdair should be alright for that purpose actually. He had been the one training me when I was a child. He should know what is important.

I arrive home late on that day… night has fallen already and the lamps in the streets are already lit. A chariot (still drawn with horses, in spite that there is already motorised vehicles – I guess there is just too few.) brings me home the last distance between the railway station to the apartment I share with Alasdair.  
I try to be extra silent – though this is hard to do – as I enter. My emotions tell me to rush forward to tell my lover that I am back but I don't want to wake him so I force myself to stay put.  
To my luck… or un-luck, the Scotsman still has a light slumber. He wakes up at the slightest sound.  
"Désolé, did I wake you?", I whisper.  
"N… Naww… Fàilte hame.", he slurs with his Scottish accent and comes closer to hug me tightly and kiss me passionately. "Ye… ye git a tan… 'n' shorter locks. …and ye reek lik' olives. Mh…."  
And he smells like cigarettes, Scotch and bed, but I don't tell him that. I'm just happy to have him here and treat him with kisses. He's so cute being half-asleep still.  
"Je t'aime…"

I put my luggage somewhere in between kitchen and living room, leaving it for the next day to care about. "Mon chér, I'm tired… let's go to bed together."  
And we ascend the stairs to go to the bedroom… rather slowly, kissing and making up for another lost week without each other.

On the next morning I find a surprise… the door to my Atelier is open – which usually is not the case. In it there are a lot of paintings done by me and also some unfinished works. … Works I wouldn't show to Écosse, because their nude paintings of him. It would be embarrassing. By now I also notice that some of the paintings – landscapes – hang outside of the Atelier in the living room, in the bedroom and elsewhere. Obviously, my husband has thought of bringing some colour to our flat.  
…There is several ways of punishment. No sex, no food… he'll have that. But I remain cool, not hot-headed. So I think. I noticed that I lose my temper easily, when it comes to certain things. With Scotland I know how to handle him.

"Moarn.", he says, standing smiling in the doorframe as if nothing had happened.  
"Alasdair… have you removed paintings from this room? Have you entered this room?"  
"Aye tae baith. Ah hud aye bin gey curious aboot whit ye kept locked in 'ere … Sae ah entirt. Ye're mah guidwife 'n' ye din huv tae huv secrets afore me."  
I feel my face heaten up. "I do have secrets before you.", I go to cover paintings on which the redhead is depictured. "As many as I want."  
"Nae.", he steps up behind me and wraps his arms around me. He's so close… "Ye cannae expect me tae hauld yer horses 'ere fur ye crakin' 'n' patient. Ye ken… A'm a fox. Wild stuff."  
"…Oui… savage.", I forgot how he can melt away my resistance.  
"….Let's mak' breakfast. I'm hungert."

Breakfast turns out be typical Scottish – with black pudding, Oates, some mud-like bread, bacon and scrambled eggs. The only things I find edible are the bacon and the eggs. Scotland has learned to do them well.

The Olympics have finally arrived in April 1896, after a lot of organisational work. I found a committee (the IOC – International Olympic Committee), to do the major part of it, the several disciplines are also set up. About 200 participants made it to the stadium in Athens.  
It'll become the stage where men will engage in heated competitions with one another… the beautiful trained bodies that slam against each other.  
"Gyaaaah! Why don't you have any clothes on?!", I hear a familiar voice screaming. It is England and he is wearing clothes – in this place out of all.  
"Angleterre… get with the program already, okay? Why are you wearing clothes on this sacred stage?", I complain and walk towards him. I worked hard on my body (perhaps as much as others) to be able to participate on his sports event…  
"Are you going to make me do it for you?", England is so involuntarily… what a sissy. "You're not too tough, are you?"  
The odds are obviously against me I notice as a shot passes England and me by – out of Switzerland's gun. Not long after I'm being taken away by a security guard. Goddammnit, why can't an old man have any fun?

„Mister Officer, you don't understand anything about ancient culture!", I protest while having to walk behind the guy… I'm still naked by the way. „This is a form of love! Being one with god – that's what being naked is all about!„  
The Officer is a cold-hearted bastard. „The times have changed. This is how they celebrated the Olympics in Ancient Greece. Not today."  
Grèce let's me know later… that he feels honoured by me holding up with his mother's culture… however, the men back then went even further. Leading back to a running discipline a man lost his pants and didn't hesitate to run for the sake of winning. And he won being all naked. From that day on they fought in all disciplines naked. Thus women were prohibited anywhere near the stadium. Later also some participants sewed their manhood onto their thigh to make running even more effective… I would have never gone this far!

The Opening Ceremony had been rather small compared to later Olympic Games… but it was very moving. The Olympic Hymn was played for the first time and the Olympic Games marked a change in the feeling of the nations. There was not an international bond. For as long as the Games were on, there was no wars – at least for those that participated.

Roundabout 9 Disciplines had come out for the Olympic Games in 1896: Athletics, Cycling, Fencing, Gymnastics, Shooting, Swimming, Tennis, Weightlifting and Wrestling. There didn't have to be a nation for each of these… For example I could pick only some of them, didn't have to do all of them.  
So I picked… Cycling, Fencing and Swimming, more or less my favourites. Scotland – who could participate despite being ‚only a part of the UK' – had picked Atheltics, Shooting, Weightlifting and Wrestling.

With so few people and so few disciplines, the Games are kept rather short with only 9 days of competition. But the disciplines are on more than one day…  
I, however, win my first gold medal in Fencing. I'm very proud to have become a champion in fencing. It had not been so difficult either with only one opponent. And I am still full of experience from the wars from where we had only swords to fight with. It's a bit unfair I guess… but it's not cheating, is it? I trained hard!  
My secound gold medal I win in cycling. The bikes are quite normal by now… no big wheels and the pedals make the back wheel move via chain. So, no problem in there!  
Alasdair is very proud that I gain these medals. No wonder, he has been my first teacher and trainer!  
I didn't win any of the swimming events, but it was fun though…

In Athletics, the competition was mostly about running… Alasdair didn't win in these.  
„Don't be sad. … You tried, Oui?", I tell him as he walks among the others back to the cabines in which the athletes rest and prepare. I give him a towel. He does not look too happy. „You have other competitions also… maybe you're better in these."  
America had won the Athletics disciplines.  
„Mmh… Aye.", I could swear he sent a deadly glare towards the young blonde nation.

With Shooting, Alasdairs luck didn't come back either. … The several disciplines was dominated by America and Greece.

But the Weightlifting discipline was definetly Scotland's discipline! At least the ‚one-arm' lifting – on which he became champion, bringing a gold medal home! The greek found him pretty handsome… and Alasdair himself was possibly a little confused over his victory. He must have been very happy also! By the way, neither of his siblings had won a gold medal the whole Olympic Games!  
„You made it! Congratulations!"  
„Thank ye… „, the man was still hypnotised by the audience that was attracted to him.

His last event, the wrestling he lost to Germany… but Germany also won the gold medal in this one. Silver and Bronze went to Greece.

The closing Ceremony came upon the athletes, the committee and everyone connected on Wednesday, the 15th, after being postponed from Tuesday due to rain. The royal family of Greece attended the ceremony which was opened by the national anthem of Greece and an Ode in ancient Greek…  
Afterwards, the king awarded prizes to the winners. … Unlike later on, the first place winners would receive silver medals (not gold…bleh), a branch of laurel and a diploma.  
Some place winners did not receive a medal, others also received additional prizes.  
At the end, the medalists were led on a lap of honour around the stadium while the Olympic Hymn was played again. Such a glorious moment…

As an Aftermath, the Greek King wanted to have the Games repeated in Athens next time again. But I was against it and also debated with the IOC that there should be an international rotation – the Games should be held in a different country every time they would be held… And thus, the vote decided that next time they would be held in Paris in 1900.

There, I hope you liked that I wrote the Olympic Games in one Chapter… like a special. Of course other things happened between the archeologic fund in 1875 and the actual Games in 1896. I will continue with what was in between in the next chapter… or something like this.


	57. Chapter 56

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Francis had come home from the archaeological funds in Athens, Greece. It didn't go off Alasdairs mind that his husband had shorter hair… he liked it. It reminded him of how he had met the smaller Frenchman when he had been a child.  
During his absence he had been mischievous and had entered the ‚forbidden' room. Not so much forbidden now.  
He had been shocked when he had found paintings of his naked self as the motive. It was embarrassing… but sweet at the same time because Francis had put so much love in there.  
Despite all the distractions and opportunities the French heart beat steadily for the nation in the north.  
Sometimes Alba was pretty confused how the blonde put up with him.  
It was simply a miracle.

The souvenirs Francis had brought were really nice. Little reminders of Greece, so Alasdair could get an idea what Greece was like even though he might as well never get there due to the hot weather.

But one cloud appeared on Alba's sky of miracle weather in 1887, when Arthur just phoned his older brother and handed him the task to prepare a world exhibition in Glasgow – all on his own.  
"F-france… Ah … Don't ken whit tae dae. Ah ne'er made a world exhibition? 'n' howfur am ah suppose tae dae it? I'm nae … ", he didn't dare to say 'Nae a nation anymair' ('not a nation anymore'). After Cumberland had killed and ruined his culture after the battle of Culloden he had lost the believe into his own self as a nation. And now he was left alone with a task which he had taken without any troubles if he did have the self-awareness of a nation. "Whit dae ah dae?"  
France in the meantime was brewing himself some tea… he was having a cold but still in his office in the Élysée Palace, where his government was housed now. He was preparing a world exhibition at the same time… Somewhat – beside the Olympic Games which he moreover left to a Committee, the IOC. France's world exhibition had to be finished one year later than the Scottish one.

"Calm down, mon joli…", Francis said with a cheeky smile and added some unwanted coughing. "Big Brother France will help you."  
" 'Big Brother France'? Pfff… If someone is th' muckle brother it's me. Tak' yer 'n' mah fowk th'gither - Th' ones o' oor generation – 'n' ye huv me bein' th' oldest yin."  
"Désolé, my old man. I could have never known…", the sick nation sniffed onto the hot steaming liquid and placed the cup onto his bureau on which he sat. Scotland sat with him.  
"I'm nae that auld …", was the stern reply. "Noo wull ye hulp me or nae?"  
"I said I would. We're married… ", Francis thought for a moment. "Actually you don't need much to do. You could as well give those guys a phone call who did the last exhibition in the UK. For the 'lowlifes' it does not matter as much whether they are Scottish or English, I think. Their identity is not life threatening on this. However, you surely could… put up something… something industrial. There have to be bosses on the guilds… or something like that. Those that were guilds in the medieval times, you know? They know organisation, they know Craftsmanship."  
Alasdair's face lit up and he nodded. It sounded so simple!

"And then you need a location.", the blonde continued after he had taken a sip from the cup of tea. "One big enough for all the nations to fit in. And you need to contact people from the other nations. You'll need des traducteurs (translators). It will be better to actually write invitations, it is more formal."  
"A-a'richt…", the Scotsman tries to make some notes. …so, Glasgow has to be it. In his mind he wondered if there was a hall or something. He hadn't been there for a long time, so he guessed he'd just have to check on there. "Ah think I'll be aff tae Glescae then fur a bawherr."  
"That's fine, take your time. And when you have problems you can always ask me – via phone or Pierre."

The Exhibition but was a success. It went from May to November 1888 and was only the first of 4 exhibitions being held in the Scottish Industrial Metropole. Subjects were Science, Art and Industry. The whole thing was housed in the Kelvingrove Park. The temporarily constructed pavilions were simple wooden frames held in oriental style – the main building showing a large iron dome.  
Prince of Wales, who would later become King Edward VII., opened the exhibition to the world on May 8th. The main goal was to show the power and capability of British, namely the Scottish, economy of this time. The Exhibition had turned out to be very profitable at the end with over 5, 75 million visitors.

Separate from the Exhibition territory was an Amusement park with Balloon and concert events. On the river Kelvin (=Kelvingrove) you could take boat rides. There was even two Gondolieri's like you would see in Venice.

"It's really great, Écosse.", France concludes as he walks with Scotland over the Amusement park. They had already seen a lot of the Exhibition and now were enjoying the part around there. "See? It doesn't take much. You really did it."  
"A-aye…", Alasdair was either absent or really moved by kind words.

The two of them saw Arthur coming across the place. Obviously he had been looking for them and was relieved to have found them. The Exhibitions (and the surrounding area) got crowded each time an exhibition was held.  
"Gosh… finally… found you…", The Englishman grasped for air.  
France wondered what Arthur wanted from them. He did still not really like the lad. England had been keeping Scotland over one hundred years from him after all.  
After the young nation had caught his breath he congratulated his older brother onto the Exhibition. "It turns out that it's been really great. You did a good job."  
"Thank… thank ye.", Alasdair replied. His ears turned red, so he was either embarrassed or moved. Perhaps both? But then he regained his composure. "…Geeza mah independence noo?"  
"What? No, never! Not in hundred years. Why are you being so ungrateful?", Arthur spat.  
"Mibbie fur ah fun that ah deserve it? 'n' whin ah don't git mah independence, how come did ye gimme this jab? Forordinar ye keep a' th' wirk 'n' glory fur yersel'!"  
"It's just because the Queen said that she wanted at least one Exhibition in every part of our kingdom. I must tell her that she was wrong. It gets my siblings the silly idea of becoming independent."  
Alasdair pouted. And France didn't know whether to find it very cute or to interfere and take side for his husband.  
Arthur however rather rudely excused himself and walked away in an angry fashion.

"…"  
Alasdair spat out wild Scottish curses under his breath and lit another cigarette. He had not stopped this habit, even when France didn't like it from time to time. It just didn't get past the thick skull into the brain that Francis didn't like when the older one smoked in the kitchen or bedroom. It was simply a no-go. It was not like there was no place for the redhead to smoke at all.  
For now France decided not to say anything. Alba was being hard to handle when he was angry. And even though they loved each other there was times when they needed distance. Francis would respect that… but he found that Alasdair often would not respect that and try everything to cheer him up. The Frenchman wondered about whether he should pick up that attitude or not. In the end he just gave Alasdair's hand a quick squeeze.

The Exhibition's excess on money had been brought to build an art gallery and museum. A nice treat after so much moderation. The English continuously seized the Scottish. Besides creating this Exhibition Alasdair still didn't have a lot to say. He didn't have a government of his own either.

One year later it was Francis' turn for to show the world what he was made of… more or less. The Exposition Universelle de Paris in 1889 went from May 6th to October 31st. The main attraction and possibly the first thing to be noticed on the whole Exposition was the Eiffel tower – which was initially supposed to be destroyed afterwards but soon became a symbol of nationality to France.  
Next to this, it was the tenth world exhibition and centennial jubilee of the French Revolution.  
The whole exhibition was over 96 hectares (237 Acres) large.  
On the Champ de Mars and in the old Trocadéro Art and Industries was presented while on the Esplanade des Invalides the colonies and the military had their exposition area. (I will write over the colonies – African colonies it is about these years – later in an extra chapter.)

Alasdair and Francis had picked Francis' birthday to visit the Exhibition. Francis had not been involved before unlike with other exhibitions, and the place in Paris where the two of them lived (18th Arrondissement, Buttes-Montmartre) was quite away from where the Exhibition took place (7th Arrondissement, Palais Bourbon), so it was still a surprise for both of them.

"Canty Birthday, wee Prince…", the older nation murmured, noticing that the Frenchman had awoken by himself – or so he hoped. He hardly ever wanted to wake him up as it gave Francis a bad mood.  
"Mmh… Je ne suis pas vieux (I'm not old)…mmhph.. Laissez-moi, s'il te plaît (let me be, please)…"  
"Ah dinnae say ye wur auld, ye silly prince.", Alasdair chuckled. "A'll keep winchin' ye 'til ye wake up."  
It took a while but then the French retreated from the bed, still sleepy. "It's my birthday, why you not let me sleep?"  
"We said we wid visit th' Exhibition th'day 'n' ah made some crakin' breakfast."  
"Mmh…", Francis flopped back into the bed and faced the older man from upside down. "Just ten more minutes."  
"Five."  
"Seven."  
"Six."  
"Seven."  
"… Braw."

Fifteen minutes later a dressed Francis came down the stairs and to the Dinner table on which several wrapped boxes. Additionally to that, a French breakfast was placed neatly on the table.  
"Did you all of this?"  
"Nae. Thae ur gifts frae a' yer colonies frae a' ower th' world. An' a' they that ur nae yers anymair … lik' Matha, Mhairi 'n Michelle."  
"…Awwwwww, this is so cute.", France made a bee-line right to the gifts to see what he got. Boxes, envelopes and Postcards (not all but varied from colony to colony) from French North Africa, French Equatorial Africa, French Territory of the Afars and the Issas (Somalia), Madagascar, Comores, La Réunion, Mauritius, Seychelles, Canada, Nova Scotia, Acadia, Louisiana, St-Pierre et Miquelon, Dominica, French Guyana, French West India, Grenada, St.-Domingue, St. Lucia, St. Vincent and the Grenadines, Tobago, India, Indochine, French Polynesia, Wallis et Futuna, New Hebrides and New Caledonia. Also he had gotten some gifts from Andorra, Monaco, Spain and Northern Italy – but these were the only European nations who liked him.

Some of the colonies Francis had never met in person, thus only a letter of them arrived. Sometimes you could even tell that not the Personification but the government had written the letter. This made France curious. He felt like he should write back and then also prepare for to travel there. With all the effort of human being to improve the world with machines it should be possible to travel faster than with an old sailed ship. Especially New Caledonia was a point of interest.  
"New Caledonia, does that ring a bell to you?"  
"Aye.", Alasdair frowned for a moment. "…Is that a colony tae ye?"  
"Oui. I wonder if there is a personification. ..gosh, I don't even know where this is. I have to buy me a larger map someday and mark all these colonies on there! I wonder if New Caledonia is anything like you when he carries your name. .. or she. Maybe it's a girl."  
"Aye, mibbie."

From Canada, Francis received a bottle of (possibly) the most expensive Maple Syrup along with a nice little letter in which the boy had written down his thoughts and whereabouts. The handwriting was really neat. Francis was proud for his son. Seychelles had sent him several pearls and cute seashells, also along with a letter. But France decided that he would read the letters thoroughly later on. It was so many of them and he wanted to pay attention to each of them. Luckily he could always blame the postmen with the delay of the letters.  
Nova Scotia had sent him a novel book. She knew that Francis had always liked to read.  
Alasdair cleared his throat. "Afore ye ask… ye wull receive mah gift nae afore this forenicht. It's meant tae be special."  
"Ah… that's alright. Actually, every day with you is like a present to me."

Usually Alba disliked the French breakfast. It was so light, with only little bread, Croissant maybe, a bit of tea, coffee, cocoa or milk…sometimes fruit, jam or cheese was added. Never any meat, bacon or egg in any form. The Scotsman would mock Francis for that fact but for today he only put on a sheepish grin as he nibbled on his baguette.  
Francis on the contrary saw this change in the face of his lover and waited for some sarcastic remark 'Oh, I'm French. I just ate a Croissant, I must lie down' - or something like that.

"So… we'll be gaun soon tae th' Exhibition? dae ye ken howfur we git thare? It's aye ferr far, ah think.", the smart redhead changed the topic.  
"Oh… Oui. Either with a chariot or with a tram. There's this… like a steam train but inside cities."  
"Soonds guid. Bit dae ye think we shuid wirk oan getting yin o' thae. Automobiles or whit they're cried?"  
Francis just shrugged. He hardly knew anything about those automobiles. They kept on appearing in those world exhibitions but he never really knew if they had future. A chariot without horses? This must be some black sorcery.

It was a fine summers day. Very hot actually too. The two of them got to the exhibition with a smaller chariot that was something like a primitive Taxi…  
From far away already, the new Eiffel tower was visible. Francis looked at it and wondered what it was. Alasdair joked that it actually looked like a huge dick with a phallic form. There was something about it, but France said that hopefully not everyone sees it like this when visiting Paris during the exhibition. Except for that, most people found French people extremely sexy already.  
The Eiffel tower offered a lift ride upstairs to the top. People have never built something this large. With 273.00 m (896 ft), the two nations had a great view all over Paris. On the way to top platform there was several lift boys informing the tourists and exhibition visitors on the Eiffel tower… it had taken only 2 years to build it, had 3 levels with 3 lifts each. The tower was named after its constructor Gustave Eiffel and was supposed to be removed after the end of the exhibition. On the four sides of the Eiffel tower on a certain level were 72 names of scientists, engineers and other awesome people engraved.  
The top platform was really windy, but both were amazed to see so much. From their point of view they could see the 'Galerie des Machines', in which the modern machines were displayed, the 'Palais des Beaux-Arts et des Arts libéraux' in which new kinds of artwork was shown, the 'Palais des Industries', in which more industry related items were shown.

"I heard now that they put fireworks here… last night. As to assign the new year."  
"Mh?", Alasdair looked at the smaller man.  
"You will not find fireworks on the night from December 31st to January 1st… the French year is different ever since the revolution. The people here talk about it."  
"Ah see ah huv tae practise mah French.", the redhead smirked.  
"I guess so. … let's get down, my hair is a mess.", Francis got unnerved with his hair being this much disheveled.  
After they got down he spent good 10 minutes untying the knots and bringing order into the hair.

The exhibition itself had even more to offer: a replica of the Bastille – on which they planned to also reconstruct the French revolution, and an 'African village' with 400 inhabitants to show what it was like in Africa. Furthermore a wild west show of Buffalo bill and two with hydrogen filled moored balloons. The several parts of the exhibition were connected with a little steam train that was constructed by Paul Decauville.

The day had ended sooner than Francis would have really wanted.  
"And I forgot to make cake yesterday…", he murmured as he walked home on the side of his lover, dissatisfied. The sun had already set and there was no way  
"Don't be sad… lik' ah said…At hame a surprise awaits ye.", the Scotsman winked – actually a gestured that was very unusual on his face.  
"Okay…?"

When they were home, Alasdair told Francis to wait at the entrance. Then, candles were lit in the dark flat, giving it a romantic touch.  
"By th' way… howfur auld did ye become th'day, Francis?"  
" …100 years when you count me as a republic. 1407 years if you count both kingdom and republic."  
"A'richt, ye kin come noo."  
"Now that I told you my age? You're such a silly scotsma-… ooh.", Francis said as he walked into the living room where everything was festively decorated, with a dark chocolate cake and a new bottle of Francis' favourite wine to drink. "it looks fantastique."  
"Ah hud hoped sae."  
"When did you do that…?"  
"Ah didn't… really… weel, ah prepared th' cake 'n' th' boattle.", the bottle which he uncorked, "'n' th' rest did mah fairy mukkers. Th' ones ye don't hawp in."  
Francis pouted at this. Did he have to come up with this topic on his birthday?

"Now… you said you would give me my present on the evening, didn't you?"  
"Aye, Ah did.", the redhead's smirk grew wider. Then he picked a book shaped box from behind a pillow and gave it to Francis. "Bon Anniversaire, mon amour."  
"… I love when you speak French.", even though the Scotsman certainly had his accent in the foreign tongue. "And merci beaucoup pour le cadeau! (thank you so much for the gift)"  
Francis unwrapped the gift and found an album… a little book with placeholders for photos – back then the photos were a little larger, so it was fitting to that size. However, it also held a few photos also already… nude photos of Alasdair. The Frenchman's face went beet red.  
"Alas…."  
"Th' camera ah huv cam wi' a self-timer. This means that it takes a photie by itself, thare wis na ither body."  
"…Alas…"  
"Aye?", a sheepish grin decorated the Scotsman's face.  
"Alas. … This is… you know that I cannot let you to bed like this, this evening?"  
"Aye."  
"You're a terribly good husband.", Francis grinned as well, then looking back into the photo album. "I love the gift."

Footnote: The first good camera was by Kodak and was released in 1892. And I doubt that it had a self-timer… but I wanted to mention the important invention of camera and wanted to clarify that Scotty is a camera person. He cannot paint like Francis does, but he learns to be good with the cam 3


	58. Chapter 57

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

(France's POV again; a special story again…  
And I gave Rome a human name also, because I like human names. His is 'Romulus Nero Vargas'.)

It was still in the days when Napoleon Bonaparte had the power over me. Over me? I was not so sure. I was still very rebellious in my mind. I felt like a teenager, despite I've been through so much. But that was only one of my aspects. Sometimes, when it was night I would be crying over those I lost to England. Matthieu (Canada), Marie (Nova Scotia) and Michelle (Seychelles) I lost one after another. It was really harsh…The deepest scar was cut when he took Alasdair – Scotland… my first love.  
I was practically a broken man.

The army exercises with Napoleon were a distraction to me at daytime. Then I would shape up, regain my muscles in case I needed them some day. The Emperor was very strict with Discipline and a healthy appearance. The French should be shining over every other race, and France was sentenced to regain the territories it had lost to the growing British Empire.  
It was kind of hard to do… On one side I was of course willed to do everything and perhaps even make England my colony – like in those times when the young English kingdom was ruled by French kings. On the other side it became very clear that the English were zealous people. They would put everything into a victory, worked really hard… almost like Germans at their best. The world may forget, but I remember that the English actually are descendants of a Germanic tribe.

Napoleon shared that attitude. Even to the lowest ranked soldier he would go and motivate him so that the poor soldier would put more effort in every single action. Very efficient, if I may say so. After all this time one thing is for sure: it takes a lot to motivate a Frenchman. We usually like to be lazy…to enjoy life as long as we have it. We are not anxious like the Italian people – nothing against them. But we don't surrender that much either, and we are too proud to side with anyone but ourselves.  
The French are very difficult people. We might appear arrogant, but in real it is all self-defence. We are anxious to get our heart hurt.  
You might think why is it that we fear our heart to be hurt when we seem to wear our heart on the sleeve? Well… we don't. We just pretend to, because we are god's beloved children. The most pretty children on earth.  
I might be wrong, but from what I experienced in my short life, I take the freedom to say so.

Freedom is also a good word. We French love to be free. So now with all this military importance under Emperor Napoleon, some of us fear to lose the freedom we have fought so hard for.  
… Actually I haven't fought like the others. I was just sick, throwing up my insides. Later I would say it was like a cold. Like in a normal human body, two fractions were fighting against each other. In a normal human body it is bacteria and viruses, in my body it was royalists against republicans.

I didn't mind to get some order into my life… and some new muscles after I had become a skeleton like man. The famine had been really bad. And how would I be able to defend myself with no muscles?  
But one thing I personally disliked was how Napoleon was affected by Rome. The ancient Roman culture sneaked into the life of the Emperor and thus into the French culture again. Decorative elements in higher class buildings became more Romanised, the clothes or most people would change into Roman style… Fashion designers tried to please the Emperor by designing a kind of dress for women that was actually just a shirt, with a big décolleté, puffy sleeves. Sometimes something like a sash…  
The men remained strictly military, but their hair was best full and curly, just like those of the women, only shorter.

I thought I was save… until one day, Rome himself – my father – was standing next to Napoleon and grinning like some lucky bastard who had just won the lottery.  
Frankly, I have to say that I had never been on good terms with my father. When I was a child… I remember it well, he had been womanising, off to wars or he was celebrating and drunk off his ass. He had been a careless father, never an eye or an ear for one of his children.  
Sure, he had been taken me to my wedding with Alasdair into the cathedral, but he was still an asshole.

I do my best to ignore him, but kind of fail as Napoleon comes towards me with the old Italian man.  
"Monsieur Bonnefoy, could I have your attention for a moment?", the Emperor commenced.  
"Oui, Monseigneur?", I try not to look directly onto both of them. Now obviously, Bonaparte had sided with the old man.  
"… Would you look at your Emperor while he is talking to you?"  
Now I'm angry. I pout and look sternly at Napoleon who hopefully gets the message.  
"Why are you mad? … I found this man here. He said he used to be a nation… Rome, to be exact. I guess he /had/ been a nation just like you are one today. He must be the ancient Rome. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Oui… completely.. wonderful."  
"I beg you a little more enthusiasm! You know I like anything about the ancient Rome and here we have the information on first hand. I want you to talk to him and find out everything what they did back then!"  
"Why me?", what a stupid task… and why me?  
"Because you are supposed to also teach the Dauphin about it. I want to leave a legacy."  
"Does Fra… Shall I become Rome? This is the most obnoxious thing I have ever heard. I am myself and not a hairy stinking bastard like him!", I point to my father to make it clear. … Also I noticed that Napoleon possibly doesn't know that Rome's my father. "I don't want to see him or talk to him or anything else. Is that clear? Remember, my dear 'Emperor', that you can't do anything without me agreeing? I am the state, not you!"  
With these words I walk away from Napoleon and the hideous father. I just… don't want to put up with them.

"My, you have really grown up, my boy…", I hear a familiar voice behind my back… just as I turned the key in the keyhole on the door to my flat. At this time I don't have that much of space to live in… Just one room, separate kitchen and separate bathroom. It's somewhere in Paris, Montmartre.  
"What do you want, old man?"  
"I want to live with you for the next few months. It can't be that bad."  
"Because my Emperor told you to? Forget it. I told /him/ already that I want to be my own person. I don't need you. I never needed you. Now go away. I don't want you here."  
"… But I want to see how my son lives! I haven't seen you ever since after the wedding. And you've been asleep back then."  
"I fucking know.", I grimace as I remember… well, I remember that Alasdair told me the next day that the old man had been standing on the wedding bed after we had… .. had our wedding night. It was gross.

Finally made it into my room safely – and without Rome, he is standing before the door and knocks the door down.  
But I ignore that and remove that stiff uniform dress… time to relax and recover from the day. I undress for a sweet hot shower. I came to love these once the shower was introduced to me.  
Wrapped in towels, I come out like half an hour later a lot more relaxed and feeling sexy. How come, someone always feels sexy when wearing only a towel?  
"…I'll never be like my father.", I murmur – and get almost a heart attack as I see the old man standing in the middle of my room, inspecting my wardrobe.  
"So this is what you guys wear today? Tsk… you have no idea about true fashion."  
"How on earth did you get in here!?"  
"Ah, did you finish? … you really grew up, figlio."  
"Stop staring… and get out! This is my home and I never invited you here."  
"Oh, don't be mad.", the Italian said with his singsong voice. In the meantime I am picking some clothes and return to the shower… well, wherever he came from (through the window perhaps? .. didn't I close all of them?) he won't be able to be held back by doors…nor by words.

I hurry with getting dressed and then rush outside to see that he made his way into the kitchen. He is cooking too. It smells nice, actually and I'm hungry…it's been some time since someone cooked for me.  
But still, something in me is totally against it. 1. The old man never asked, 2. He is using up my groceries, 3. I will possibly have to clean up after him.  
"Father…"  
"Si?"  
"… nevermind."  
Actually there hardly was chaos. Rome had made Pasta.

We ate in silence. It felt strange, but it was like… there was someone who cared. After all this time very … I can't put my finger on it!  
Perhaps it was only because I miss my children and Alasdair. They were my only family, actually. Rome is considered dead. But he is my father…. I never got to know my mother, so he is the only blood relative I knew of before my children were there. Back then I always hated Rome, because he took things ever so lightly. Perhaps I take things too seriously? Perhaps I should not worry or suffer so much?  
"You hardly touched the Pasta I made. Don't you like my food?"  
"Non, it's… It's nothing."  
"Then why don't you eat? … Oh, I know, a good bottle of wine. Next time I bring one from home."  
"Heh… Seriously? Why are you being so nice all of sudden? When I was a child you didn't care at all. Do you think now that I grew up does change anything?"  
"Ey, it's not my fault. I didn't know I should bring a bottle of Italian Wine."  
"That's it… you completely ignore what I am talking about. All you do is being centered around your own topic. You haven't changed at all!"

After Dinner I try to read a bit… and try to ignore the fact that I am not alone anymore that night. Rome wants to play some games with me… cardgames, boardgames if you wonder. But I still am fed up about how he behaves. Always everything about him!  
"I still didn't invite you here. Thanks for the meal, but that's it. I never said you should be making yourself useful and I only ate it to not waste the materials.", when I hear myself talking like that I actually feel reminded of Lovino… He also talks like that to Spain. I think for a while about it… and figure that the difference between me and Lovino is that I have been abandoned by my father and he not really. I heard Spain that Lovino also suffered about how Rome cared only for Feliciano, then again he had Spain and Rome never fooled him by coming back at him and turning things like everything is fine.

"You are cold hearted.", the expression of the old nation had suddenly changed –and so his voice. It didn't sound as happy anymore…  
"So?"  
"Is it because you didn't get to sleep with someone the past days?"  
"Non.", I clench my teeth. "It is because…. Because I cannot be with my lover. The man I have married. I don't even know if he died or is sick or is well.", I reply with a grim voice and wonder why I am talking about such things with /him/.  
"Why don't you write to him?"  
"England has blocked off the island. Not even Pierre – my postal bird – is passing through. Once… a friend's postal bird could pass, but that's been such a long time ago. … You remember my wedding with Écosse? I haven't been separated really from him ever since then. And now… this is… this is too much. I can't bear that."

"You should sleep."  
I give him a stern look. Is that all he's got to say?  
"Sleep. The next day everything seems differently."  
The way he says that… makes it seem trustworthy. I mean… when has he ever been serious like this? "Will you go away, then?"  
"…When you want me to. But now hush."

The next day, Rome is gone. I kind of miss him and I figure that it was not as bad of him being around. I was so lonely without Alasdair and the children… I am not a person that likes to be alone. Also, Rome does not treat me like the child that I was back then. Perhaps, things have changed between us and he respects me more. Of course he cannot change his own being.. his carefreeness. Now, I wonder also if he has made bad experiences also. Lost people in his life, important people. He must have… he's a very old nation. But still he carries on and hopes for the best.  
I think I made peace with him now. At least on the inside.

(Scotland's POV)

Ah huv this dream again. Th' dream o' Uilliam Uallas. Or shall ah ower say nightmare? it's th' aye returning memory frae 1305, frae whin thay chased him thro' th' toon, threw stanes at his naked body.  
It's kind o' thrilling, fur even though he wis sentenced tae th' maist common – 'n' nowadays considered inhuman – sentenced o' a': Hingin, drawing 'n' quartering. Ah don't wantae gang intae aw the wee bits oan this… th' gey memory mak's me peely-wally.  
It's lik' seeing at something 'n' yit nae focussing th' mynd tae it. It's better this wey.  
However, th' thrilling part… is that even efter a' thae tortures he said that yin thing that ah wull ne'er forget: „Ye Sassenach dugs, ye effeminate bitches that yer, ye kin winch mah Scots bahookie 'n' be proud tae dae sae, a better thing cannae happen tae a pathetic Sassenach."

A'm feelin' a bawherr drenched 'n' eaten up, whin ah wake up efter sic a dream. Th' kip sheets ur drooched. Ah don't mind howfur mony nights ah huv spent lik' that.  
…Fraunce sleeps neist tae me, a gey comforting feeling tae see him thare. It reminds me that th' time o' Uilliam Uallas is far ower. 'n' an' a' that amurnay alone. Th' wee prince does nae ken aboot Uallas.

Ah reach oot mah haun tae pet Francis' head… a bawherr tae quick 'n' he wakes up.  
"Mmhh..ph… Quoi de neuf, Alasdair?"  
„A'm sorry. Keep sleeping."  
"Non, … dis-moi, s'il te plait. You are…", he yawns, "You're sweating. What's wrong with you? Had a nightmare?"  
"Uhm… Aye. .. A nightmare."  
"Wanna talk to me about it? It must have really disturbed you."  
"… ah don't wantae. . Juist. Let me hug ye, a'richt?"  
"Okay.", he looks awfully happy.

Mibbie someday, ah micht tell him aboot Uilliam Uallas. Bit th' time insae richt yit.  
Mah mynd calms doon as a'm feelin' 'n' reek th' wee'er Frenchman. Forordinar efter nightmares ah wid light a fag; whin a'm needin' something stronger then cratur – bit noo that ah huv Francis thare is na need fur tae dae something lik' that. A'm na langer alone, lik' ah wis at Arthur's hoose.  
Wi' Francis it's funny. He wis sic a fragile wee jimmy back then whin ah met him foremaist. Bit then he hud turned oot tae be sae reliable 'n' trustworthy. Ah don't think he ever minded that we wur merrit by force… that we cuid ne'er decide whither tae mairie ilk ither or nae.  
Ah an' a' mind th' time whin ah wis oan Orkney… 'n' Francis travelled a' o'er Scootlund ainlie tae fin' me. A'm a bawherr ashamed that this hud tae happen, yit it shows howfur muckle he values me though amurnay as pure tough as a land as he is, or as ither cuntry ur.

Ah doze aff slowly… As ah wake up again a'm rested 'n' th' sun ootdoors stauns heich. Th' snaw is heich as weel. Hauld yer horses, snaw? it's late November 'n' awready sae muckle snaw. Th' white stuff is thickly oan th' houses oan th' ither side o' th' wynd that kin be seen frae Francis' hoose.  
"Wee prince? Wee prince, wake up.", Ah softly say fur ah ken that he loues snaw, mostly untouched snaw. Sae if he shall huv some, we huv tae git up earlie. Wur in a toon efter grumbles.  
"I just slept in… wake me tomorrow."  
"Franny, Snaw ootdoors."

He slowly moves his heid 'n' sleepily looks ootdoors. That cannae motivate him pure either, as ah kin see… he plops his heid onto mah chest 'n' keeps goupin'. "…How? It's only November."  
"Th' snaw doesn't ken that. It's thare.", Ah smile, huv a go tae convince him. Ah mind howfur cute he wis whin we hud oor foremaist snaw th'gither. It hud bin a December back then. Francis hud bin a lot mair vital back then. Climbing yin hill efter anither, juist tae skiite it doon wi' some makeshift skiite. He wis easy tae entertain wi' snaw 'n' free frae ony worry or anythin' connected tae adulthood.

Slowly, th' younger nation wakes up. Ah mean, pure wakes up. He gets up 'n' gets duin. Me tae. 'n' efter wur duin we simply heid o' us kens th' actual time, bit na yin else is outside… it appears that a lot o' French fowk loue tae kip lang hours (which is how come ah hud problems wi' mah guidwife).  
Ah don't huv tae wait lang tae git some random snowball onto mah heid – 'n' a certain French laughter appears frae that direction.  
"Yay, I won!"  
"Won? that battle isnae yit decided, wee prince."

Ah roar 'n' run efter him, grabbing some snaw in that process 'n' easily catch up wi' th' wee'er mon tae shove th' snaw doon his collar. A gey unmanly squeak escapes his lips."Who won now?"  
"Nnnn-not you.", He shivers, quickly picks some snaw frae a near-by tree 'n' smacks it against mah coupon. Whit a naughty wife!We spend some mair time chasing 'n' throwing snaw against ilk ither or making traces intae th' innocently white substance, afore we git back ben tae taps aff up under a het shower.

Oan noon, Francis receives a phane ca' frae his government; he is telt tae come tae th' Élysée palace immediately, tae sign some important contract...It cannae hauld yer horses. Bit whit's this a' aboot? oan th' phane thay won't say anythin' mair, sae we huv tae gang.  
"It annoys me. My hair is still wet from the shower and they have to be bitching around on my day off. I hate it, I hate it, I hate iiit…",  
Francis grumbles. Ah kin ken that he is uggit. A'm juist as much… bit mibbie we kin gang back efter he did whit he hud tae dae.  
Juist a few minutes efter we arrived in his affice, Francis is telt tae sign an Alliance contract wi' Roushie…Funny, it haes nae bin lang efter Napoleon invaded th' land 'n' noo thay come th'gither fur an Alliance. Th' contract haes awready bin signed by th' Russian Nation, sae it's nae a hoax.  
"What do you think, Écosse?"  
"Ah don't ken. … juist sign th' contract if it mak's yer government happy. It's nae lik' yer marrying him."  
"Mmh… Oui. It's not my affair.", He shrugs 'n' signs th' papers.


	59. Chapter 58

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

It was a glowing night as Scotland and France stood at the harbour of Sierra Leone, an African colony of Great Britain. Things were peaceful between France and England now, so Francis was fine to set foot onto this land – from side of the British. However, both were not welcomed happily by the actual inhabitants. There were the wild animals, the lions, cheetahs, hundreds of them who would want to kill actually anyone coming too close.  
Then there were the human inhabitants on which it was very different. Some of them actually liked the 'colonist lords', others disliked them but learnt to cope with them, and then there were the ones who would still hate the colonists fiercely and would not hesitate to pierce lances through their bodies.

Alasdair and Francis however didn't notice anything of the hostile environment except the lingering heat. It was night but it was almost unbearable. More so for the Scotsman who was used to colder regions.  
"This way.", a servant said. He was black, but that was not the main reason why he was told to serve these two 'lords'. Being a native he was used to this place, he knew everything and the white had to trust him. "Follow me."  
The two of them followed the stranger into the night. A short way with the chariot and they had reached their destination in the middle of a deep jungle. The guide said that beyond a few trees in northern direction a large desert would begin and that it was best not to go there.

"Fine with me… I'm so tired. The salty air all the time drives me mad.", Francis exclaimed, flopping onto his hammock, taking care that he'd not flip out of it. The hammock was so that some animals like snakes would not easily access them. Over the hammock was a net against the Mosquitos.  
"Bit ah heard it's guid fur th' skin.", Alasdair mocked, getting slightly used to the dull heat that made sweat running down his spine.  
"Mmph. My skin is just fine.", the Frenchman replied. "I mean… /was/, before saltwater and –air ruined it."  
The grumpy blonde received a tickling kiss and a little later a report that his skin was still good. "Don't be sae unsatisfied a' th' time… whiles ah think you're happy whin ye huv something tae complain."

"Am ah richt?"  
"I would say so. I just... like to do that… lately.", Francis was but unsure of how to deal with it. It seemed unrealistic that everything was fine so he was looking for bad things, so he'd be prepared for a loss of something. England had taken a lot important things from him and he was most likely to lose his rank as a strong and respectable nation. He was no longer an Empire, but a mere Republic again. It was still more than what Scotland was, but Francis was used to more.

"Howfur lang ur we aff tae bade 'ere in Africae?", Alasdair tried with a new topic while checking his hammock for any bugs before laying inside. Actually he found hammocks more comfortable than normal beds. These also reminded him of the time when he had been an independent pirate on the seven seas.  
"Je ne sais pas (I don't know). I wanted to take a look at the land, the animals… Euh.. you know, just to draw some of them. They appear now on World Exhibitions eventually, but this is different. Here, they are in their original place and you could see their natural behaviour."  
"Dae ye an' a' wantae paint some o' the… th' fowk?", back at this time, people with dark skin weren't really considered people. (Admin: But I guess it's most likely the other way around also.)  
"To be honest, yes. We don't know so much about them that it's really… a shame. We don't know, don't understand them. No wonder they appear strange to us.", France had been the first nation to abandon Slavery.  
"Ah hawp we don't git murdurred in that…", Alasdair cramped a little. He could already see the two of them hiding in trees with their predators waiting at the ground.

Morning was something that came soon in the jungle. From one minute to the other the sunlight simply was casted down the leaves of the strong trees that were almost woven into each other.  
Alasdair didn't really like all of these changes. But he took them for granted because he was interested in that 'black continent' also. So many mysteries about it, everything so different from his place and even from France's place. The green of the jungle was different, despite it was also just a 'green forest'. The green here was a little lighter, but just as rich. … Francis was still sleeping. The redhead wondered what a desert was. He knew Dessert, but there definitely was not a big piece of cake out there, beyond the jungle. Should he really be waiting for the blonde to wake up? This could take hours.  
The heat was still bearable. Alasdair had gotten used to it and the leaves of the large trees didn't let hot sunrays pierce through.  
The Scotsman figured that he should not leave his lover alone here, so he sorted out what they had for breakfast and the meals after this one. Bringing food along had always been a problem, ever since people travelled around the globe.

"Couldn't sleep, hm?", a sleepy voice from behind spoke with a slight French accent.  
"Nae.", Alasdair put on a excusive smile and turned around. "… Moarn wee prince."  
Francis sleepily went over to where his lover stood and embraced him. "Salut~"  
"Ah have… thought o' something. This land 'ere is ower primitive, Aye? sae ah thought that 'ere we cuid rammy th' auld fashioned wey – whin we huv tae rammy, that is. Ye ken, wi' swords 'n' stuff. I'm better wi' thae than wi' guns."  
"…", the smaller man needed some time to let the information sink in.  
"I'll protect ye, juist lik' in th' auld times. I'll be th' knight 'n' you're th' prince."  
"Ou… oui.", the smaller man simply said. "But I don't want any unnecessary fights. I don't want you to get hurt and I don't want to throw a tantrum here… create a war. Things are fragile already. The inhabitants here are sensitive because the 'white' people are so… were so mean to them. And with only 2 white people like us, we are easy prey."  
"Ye forget that we ur nations. 'n' ah huv a muckle sword.", Alasdair proudly pointed to his huge claymore that stood in the corner. He had a smith making him a custom sword big enough to slay dragons. It was rather a large piece of steel, same height as the Scotsman himself (6'7 feet / 2 metres).  
"Mmh… d'accord.", the Frenchman made an unhappy face. "I still don't want to provoke any fighting."

After eating what they had brought with them from the harbour – it was only a few groceries they had with them – they had to go out into the jungle and find new sources on which they could live. It really was survival training. Pretty much like, when the two of them were freshly married and had to live on their own, just that it was more exotic now and with no farm animals they could take care of in the jungle. It was simply too dangerous to keep animals as they would practically show enemies the way into their hideout.  
With all the exotic plants it would also become difficult to survive. Both of them had been overseas in South and North America, but also here things were different than in both America and Europe.

During noon or a little after noon, the two of them walked casually through the deep jungle. Francis scanned the surroundings with care, hoping there might be something that could qualify as food source. Here and there he also found something, made drawings from them or took samples with him. Alasdair offered using the camera, and Francis agreed when his drawing skills came to its limits or when he didn't feel like drawing. There was also birds, parrots namely, large snakes… the two Europeans lacked experience in hunting these kinds of animals and failed badly. And then there was a Leopard…  
"It's a big cat…", Francis whispered.  
Alasdair stood before him and drew his Claymore. "Shht… Ah doubt that it's freendly."  
The Leopard growled lowly but was rather annoyed as the two men had surprised it, and strolled away.

"It's more scared from us than the other way around…What was that? A Leopard?", Francis was excited and regretted that the Leopard had gone away so quickly.  
"Ah hawp that cameras wull soon be as guid as tae produce instant photos. Lik'. Ye press th' button 'n' 'ere comes th' picture.", Alasdair said with a smile. He also regretted not getting the Leopard quickly enough.  
"We should then tomorrow try to get to the desert… desert does not necessarily start right away. The servant yesterday said something about larger animals out there in the savannah. Lions, elephants, herds of zebras and maybe some giraffes. They look so cool!"  
"Herds o' zebras 'n' giraffes? Well… ah don't ken bit ah think that they'd mak' a gid meal. Muckle lik' horse-meat. Fur, we won't be able tae bide oan some hideous leaves alone. Mon needs hough."  
"Oui. And meat-eaters like those larger cats are no good. I understand. .. You'll get your good portion of 'hough', mon petit renard~", Francis cooed.  
"Don't tell me ye kin bide wi'oot it."  
"I could…When there is nothing to eat, you eat nothing."

The next day they went out into the savannah. The weather there was suppressing, the sun burnt their skin. Francis had taken the magical Sword he had received way back from Jeanne D'arc. According to Scotland's telling's, it was also able to shoot, so it would enable them to get their prey even when it was far away.  
"Do you remember.. the day when we were drunk and had to fight because the English were impatient again?"  
"While th' 100 year's war? Yes… 'twas fun… 'n' sae mad rocket.", the taller man tried to remember that. They had just celebrated a victory, but then the English attacked. The two of them stumbled helplessly on their feet, avoiding attacks instead of dodging them and rather unexpectedly counter-attacked. It was purely brilliant. After that incident – and after recovering from their hangover – they wondered if they should be continuing fighting like this but then refrained from it as the consume would cost too much.

They chatted away, talking about old memories as the first animals came in sight. A herd of Gemsbok. The grey "deer"-like animals trotted their way in the search of food and water. For this case, Alasdair got out his gun. He was hungry for meat and behaving much like a lion that spotted its prey. Unfortunately there also was a lion, the Gemsboks started running for their lives.  
"Shoot.", Francis had remained silent until now. Actually he wanted to have them alive to study their behaviour but now that the lionesses had appeared, everything changed. "Both of them… euh… a lioness and a gemsbok."  
Alasdair quickly obeyed. Though he disliked fire weapons, he was pretty good at their usage. Only a few moments of reloading a lioness collapsed under the hands of the Scotsman. The animals now collectively fled, this time from the direction of the two strangers. The lion huntresses firstly had wondered if they could have the dead gemsbok that Alasdair had shot, but then decided to run as well. No one stops a wild running mass of gemsbok.

Ten minutes later, the savannah was silent again. Only the wind was audible.  
"We… we should hurry, I guess. … Meat rots fast in heat.", Francis took a closer look at the dead gemsbok. He quickly pulled out paper and pencil and then made a few sketches of both the gemsbok and the lioness. As soon as Francis had finished, they took the gems… but before they could even make a step they were surrounded by wild Africans that most likely were going to kill the strangers from the north. Hunters or Warriors that stood with feathers, furs, paintings on their dark skin and spears and other weaponry in their hands.  
"…Another reason why we should have hurried.", Francis whispered. Alasdair remained calm on the outside and looked angrily back at the warriors. He was not going to give up to them for he was Scotland for crying out loud. He was still strong.

The warriors made gestures that the two white skinned ones had to grab both the lion and the gemsbok, and had to follow them to their hut. Alasdair carried the gemsbok as it appeared heavier than the lion which obviously had been starving. Francis found the lioness still very heavy. Together, the inhabitants and the strangers walked hours for hours through the burning heat. When they finally reached the village, Alasdair and Francis were sun kissed, sweaty and nearly dehydrated.  
The people in the village talked excitedly to the warriors that had just arrived, then the chief – who was pretty casual clothed compared to the warriors – went to the two nations and talked to them… which they of course would not understand. But at least the man, that was possibly in his late 40s, did not seem angry. He talked in a serious manner. As he had ended his speech he let women come bring the newcomers bottle gourds in which was water.  
While the blonde hesitated, he always had a hint of mistrust, Alasdair downed the liquid as if it was the best Whisky he ever had. Seeing that his husband was still fine, the blonde drank carefully.

The women in the meantime had already taken care of the prey that Alasdair had shot. Slowly, a festive mood could be felt in the village, and even though the two nations were strangers were seemingly happily invited. Also of their sunburn was taken care. The medicine man put some earth coloured paste on the places where the skin was affected, which cooled down and soothed.  
"They're pretty friendly now. … Perhaps we were wrong.", France whispered concerned. Just then the idea hit him of studying them instead of the animals. Especially their make-up as fierce warriors with the feathers had been exciting and bore some elegance to it as well.  
"Aye, mibbie…", Alasdair still remained on his guard. The burnt skin was now itching beneath the earthy paste.  
Children were also now running around cheerfully, playing in their ways yet were not so different from all the children in the world. The strangers liked that fact because now they didn't feel so much out of place.  
As Francis started to draw them, some of the children and older people gathered around him, looking curiously over his shoulder. As the Frenchman noticed that, he couldn't help but smile.

The following days the two white men befriended with the tribe they had met. They went around hunting along with them and also eventually moved their stuff to the village instead of living in the jungle. It was simply nice to live among these peaceful and proud people and it was impolite to leave the campfire in the night.  
France and Scotland stayed five years in the end... Some years after they left, the small village was eliminated, wiped off the face of the earth like many other tribes before them.


	60. Chapter 59

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Back in Europe, Paris entered the new century in 1900 with a world exhibition that was greater and brighter than all those that had been there before. On this world exhibition, new buildings as well as new inventions were presented, such as: the Grand Palais, the Petit Palais, the Gare D'Orsay (Later: Musée D'Orsay), the Pont Alexander III. in honour to the Russian-French Alliance and the Russian Emperor Tsar Alexander III., Further there was the Parisian Metro which connected the gigantic capital, and many other useful and amazing things.

1900 was also the last year of the reign of Queen Victoria. In 1901 she died in January 1901, leaving her son Edward VII to become the next monarch over the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland – and a slowly decaying world Empire. The world domination was slowly but steadily slipping out of England's hands. America had been just the beginning.  
Recognising that he would continue to fail, the lad turned towards his most hatred enemy: France.

"Francis, I… I hate to ask you this… …Would you… make an Alliance… with me?", he stammered. "With my siblings and me."  
It was April 8th in 1904.  
"…", Francis didn't know what to answer that as he sat in his chair in the Élysée Palace. Arthur had come all the way to tell him that. The Frenchman dropped his pen. "Is this a joke? Angleterre, I know we have different time zones, but this is ridiculous. The April fools is long over…"  
"I am not joking, you….!", Arthur swallowed a curse that had been lying on his tongue. "I brought a contract with me."  
The Brit tossed the paper onto the table of the Frenchman, who picked it up gently. The paper was worn out a little though the date was not old. Apparently, Arthur had been against the contract but the king or his underlings had decided to dissolve the 'Splendid isolation' in which England had been in and set him right into an Alliance with the most hatred enemy over… over hundreds of years. Despite the first kings of England being of French origin, there had always been some dislike about the two nations. More so the more Arthur and also the country itself rose, age and gained power.

Francis had to suppress a grin as he read the paper. Arthur looked at him like a child that had just handed his very first poem and now was waiting for critique. That very look made it even harder to suppress the grin he held inside.  
He then focused on the contract itself. It said something a conflict of interests on Africa…As far as Francis knew, Africa was majorly parted between the two of them… Great Britain and France. Only smaller parts had been "granted" to Belgium, Germany, Spain and Portugal (Not counting the independent Congo). It would have been natural if they had been fighting over it sooner or later… the 100 year's war over Africa, if you might say so.  
The will to grin was gone and Francis was not thoughtfully chewing on the inside of his cheek.  
The main aspect of the contract was Morocco and Egypt – the first becoming now clearly French and the second clearly British. Both nations had to have respect for each other's interests. Furthermore it granted free passage through the Suez-Channel and the Path of Gibraltar. To sum it up, it only had benefits to Ally with Great Britain.

"…c'est génial. I don't see why I should not sign this contract. It's only good for us….however, other nations will make stupid faces. They will not think that we do a thing like this. .. Oh, and I don't think that just because of an Alliance like this we should get married. I am married to your brother already and didn't you say this here is an Alliance of me with all of you?"  
"Exactly!", Arthur pressed out. "… Traditionally you would have to marry all of us. Wales, Ireland, Scotland and me. But this is unthinkable. I thought about this for a while. I feared that… you might betray my brother and do it still."  
"Non, why?"  
"…I don't know. However, this is a good thing. You could … have contact with Scotland, and he has the task to report to me or my government."  
"The 'link between France and Great Britain and Ireland'? … I wonder what he'll say. Besides, what about that tunnel you promised me?"  
"Tunnel? I never promised you anything!"

Francis quickly signed the contract.  
"You're my Alliance partner now, don't swear at me.", Francis could so see Arthur doing that. The lad would hardly manage to change his attitude towards him. But maybe he'd be less violent now.  
Arthur went beet red. "What Tunnel?"  
"The tunnel beneath le Manche."  
"Speak English with me, I don't understand idio… -your language."  
"Ugh… what do you call it… English Channel?", Francis didn't look happy.  
"Ah… Oh, this tunnel. I don't know yet. I can't afford it right now."  
"Not right now? What's with your Empire? With Egypt? You already drew so much money from all over the globe…", Francis gaze wandered over to the world map he had in his office.  
"It's not me to decide what the money is for, okay?", the Englishman scoffed.  
"You're stingier than your brother.", Francis chuckled.

"You know… it's actually nice not having to fight for once. I don't know about you, but I don't like warfare anymore. It's been… too much war over the years. Too many human lives wasted for practically nothing.", France said.  
"…", England didn't know what to say for a moment. "…I guess I agree."  
"This Alliance. .. I think we should call it Entente Cordiale."  
"I don't sp-"  
"I know, let me explain! … It means 'sincere agreement'."  
Arthur made a helpless face.  
"This does not mean that I agree on seeing your pixies, got that memorised?"  
"How come I knew this? … And how come you don't believe in them when you have been with my brother for such a long time? He sees them also."  
"I know, but I am no Kirkland.", Francis paused for a moment, "I'm sorry, but I still have more work left. … Could we have a talk another time? Could I perhaps phone you?"  
"Uhm… … Sure, why not? ... Just remember than I am one hour behind in time."  
"Oui, I will."

Even with their Alliance, it was not to expect wonders. The arch enemies only slowly rose to some kind of fragile friendship. Both were still mistrusting and fearing the other one might take advantage and break the other one's heart.  
It was only 3 years of their new kind of relationship, when Russia joined their Alliance, making it a 'Triple Entente'.

In 1910, the Parisians were surprised by a great flood. Months of constant rainfall had filled the canals and everything beneath the large city.  
Francis himself felt like dehydrating. He drank a lot but it never was enough. "If this rain continues and the water level rises.. I'll throw myself into it.", the blonde watched down to the Seine that was slowly but surely spreading out, rising out of its bed and grabbing everything that was in the way.  
"Ah won't allow that. Yi''ll need tae gang tae a doctor.", Alasdair insisted. With them living in Montmartre they were more or less living on a hill, far away from the actual flood. However, when it was not foggy, one could see everything of Paris from one of the windows from the 8th floor (Francis' apartment went from the 7th floor to the 8th.  
"As if that would help anything.", Francis took a sip from a cup of tea. Despite him drinking that much he had noticed that he didn't need to go to the toilet at all during many days. It was simply much like the situation in Paris. A lot of liquid (water of all qualities) was added but none could pass out of the city. "I know, why I have this… and actually I fear how it will be once the flood goes away."  
The maximum level of this Flood was 20 feet over the normal level.

This is a rather short chapter. Initially I had planned to put in one more story… which but will start (and end) in Chapter 60. It's very long, but it should start and end in the same chap. And don't worry guys, I have pre-written alot. Eventually alot of new chapters will be posted soon.


	61. Chapter 60

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

It all seemed like a family trip, when in 1912 the Kirkland family decided to use the RMS Titanic to travel from Great Britain to America. From Southampton in England, the Route went over France and Queenstown (Ireland) before crossing the Atlantic Ocean to arrive New York only a few days later.  
Arthur Kirkland, representing initially England and now also Great Britain and Ireland, his sister Gwynn Kyrkland, representing Wales and George O'Kirkland representing Ireland boarded the ship on its virgin ride in Southampton.  
In Cherbourg, France, the Titanic made a halt in Cherbourg, as for the Kirkland family to pick up Alasdair McKirkland and his 'wife' Francis Bonnefoy – and for many French people to board the Olympic class ship.

"That thing is huge…", Francis said as he stared in awe.  
"It's best British steel.", Alasdair explained. He had received mail from his brother Ireland, always complaining on how England bullied him, always asking him when the ship was finished. And England had complained about lazy Irish workers. In fact both had been excited to see the new Giant on the waves.  
"What does 'RMS' stand for?", the Frenchman noticed that only 3 out of 4 chimneys spat smoke into the clear sky.  
"Ryle Mail …Ship …", Alasdair got absent minded. He frowned and looked hard against the sun. He tried to make out his siblings. When they wouldn't meet them, they wouldn't be able to board the ship since George had their tickets. George and Arthur in fact didn't need a ticket. Their passport was enough. Gynn had received a ticket easily from Arthur.  
"It's so biiig~", France repeated. The ship was the largest thing made by human hand he had ever seen. At least the largest mobile thing. Silently he wondered if the Versailles Palace could fit on the Titanic.  
"Fun thaim!", Scotland reported and dragged his husband with him to the gateway where George was already waving his arms off.

"There you are! Albain, conas atá tú? (Scotland, how are you?)", the Irishman said shaking the hand of his older brother firmly.  
"Éirinn, finally. Tha gu math, tapadh leat (I'm fine, thank you). Ciamar a tha thu? (how are you?) … ahh, we shuid nae blether Gaelic fernent mah guidwife. ", Alasdair casted a nervous glance at Francis.  
The Frenchman shrugged it off. "I don't mind. I like you language. … Irlande, did you build this ship?"  
"Tá, I did!", the ginger replied proudly. "It's my sweet baby. …It has nearly everything on board. Unlike your trips way back in the 16th century – or something – you won't even notice that you are on a ship. Only when you look out the window you gonna see dolphins! The comfort on this ship is high class, even if you'd travel 3rd class it's way better than being on the stree- ughh… Just get on and see yourselves. You have tickets for the 2nd class."  
Alasdair and Francis received shiny white pieces of paper each, which were approximately the size of a pocket-book. The ticket hosted a picture of the ship, the stations, and the class they were allowed to be and of course the noble name of the ship Titanic.

"Are the others also in class 2?", Francis asked curiously as he followed George along with Alasdair onto the large vessel.  
"Mh? … No.. No, they're not. I'm glad I could remain in class 2. If it was for Arthur I'd be in 3.", George growled. "/He/ is in class 1. …buachaill salach assed saibhir."  
Scotland chuckled at the curse his brother had spoken. "Ah say we juist visit him. He'll be sae happy…Mh. 'n' whit aboot Cymru?"  
"She is with him on Class 1. They share a suite."  
This left the Auld Alliance couple clueless. It seemed like England actually had a thing for his sister or at least let her be closer to him.  
"Then we absolutely have to pay him a visit… I'd be dying to know what this is all about.", Francis said with a smirk plastered across his beautiful face.  
"Aye.", Alasdair's smirk looked wolfish, but he had the same thing in his mind. Why not bothering the younger one a little more?  
"The second class is between the last chimney and the end of the ship…", George said with a hint of fatigue in his voice. "It's like we've been put at the end of the ship for a reason. .. Unlike class 1 and 3, we are not horizontally parted but vertical. … it's real nice though. We have a library, a salon for smoking and a large dining hall. Actually everything is big on this ship. But who'd be surprised?"

The cabins of class 2 were not as large as those of class 1, but just as comfortable. The high quality and the service was just as noble as in the upper class and therefore satisfying. There was nothing to argue about.  
Not much after making themselves a home in their cabin, Francis and Alasdair sneaked towards the 1st class area, where they wanted to meet up with England. In case they would not be able to find him, they'd just take a tour on the large 'boat'.  
"Did you notice? There is many English and Irish here."  
"It haes bin built by Irish. Th' Sassenach wur mair or less th' guiding line. Th' 'White starn Line' is an Sassenach corporation. Thay gave th' Irish th' jab tae build this… bit ah think that ower mair Sassenach ur in th' 1st class 'n' Irish ur in th' 3rd class. It's a pity."  
"Uh… well… Oui, but the ship also halted in France, and English and Irish are not the only people of Britain?"  
"Pff… Welsh 'n' Scots ur seendle 'ere. It's nae lik' Englain gives thaim a lot o' dosh. Sae thay wirk ilka day 'n' nicht tae keep thair lee modest."  
Francis felt sorry. So they actually were both an exception. But in fact, there was also a lot of French people in the 1st class. The French could never abandon luxury wherever they found it.  
"Uh… I heard, they have a swimming pool somewhere on board. Shall we have a look?"  
"I bet this is also first class."

"Ah, the lower class mob tries to look like elegant people.", an arrogant voice was heard from above. Arthur was standing on the deck over the deck where Francis and Alasdair were standing. He was practically looking from above.  
"Hey, ye Sassenach!", Alasdair growled and stared daggers into his brothers eyes.  
Francis, on the contrary, was putting up an amused face and stepped closer. His face reflecting the expression of having seen something very exciting.  
"What are you doing, frog?"  
"The positive thing of you standing one level above is… I can look up your pant leg.", the Frenchman explained with a smirk.  
England blushed, made a strange squeaking noise and went backwards.  
Scotland and France laughed and made their way up. They had to pass a barrier that separated the first class from the others.

"So… euh, you made it to the first class? What is it like, I'm curious. Besides, I heard that Wales is with you? What is that all about? I didn't know you'd ever care so much about one of your siblings."  
"That's only because you don't know me at all.", Arthur replied stiffly.  
"I have to give you right on this.", Francis made a sad smile. "But seriously… why Wales? Why not Ireland?"  
"Because, Gwynn is nice to me. And she's a girl. And the Prince of Wales is my crown prince. Does that answer your question?"  
"…I think so.", the Frenchman tilted his head. "But I also want to see the benefits of the First class. I don't think I will get to have a second ride on the Titanic, when it's so expensive."  
Arthur looked at Francis and wondered if the former enemy was being honest. Then again… they were allies right now. Damn that Entente. "I guess you adapted that stingy behaviour from my elder brother."  
"Whit stinky behaviour?!", Alasdair asked, nearly losing his temper.  
"Stingy. At least you should listen to what I am saying. Besides, didn't I tell you to lay off that terrible accent? No one understands you anyway."  
"I do.", Francis cooed. "But please stop fighting. We should enjoy this wonderful gigantic ship… Mh. Actually, ship sounds a little underestimated for the size. Isn't there a different word?"  
"No different word that I'd know of. But you're right.", Arthur managed to smile. "Well, okay, Let's show you around."

The first class was very luxurious. There was the large Staircase that lead to the ballroom, a large restaurant (on which the cook was Italian), a French café (which made France laugh a bit), a gymnastics-room, a Turkish bath, a squash hall, several public rooms, another bibliotheca that worked also as a study and of course also a smoking saloon. Additional to the staircase was three elevators, as the first class area went between the first and second chimney and went over 6 decks.  
When the three of them had finally finished going around it was already evening, the lights on the ship gave an impression that it was practically a city on water.  
"I'm hungry… "  
"Then go back to your class… You're slightly out of place here. I doubt you have the right outfits to dine with my sister and me.", Arthur teased with a tired smile. He had actually enjoyed walking around with his brother and Francis a lot.  
"I could as well walk around naked and be more fabulous than you.", Francis mocked.  
"Din rammy. A'm hungert as well… let's gang back tae oor class, Francis. Ah don't cop lik' ah fit in 'ere anyway.", Scotland said. He didn't like all the people from the first class. They were so very snobby. It reminded him of the unhappy time at Versailles.

The next day, the Titanic arrived Ireland. Everyone was standing proudly on the railing and waved and cheered towards those that desiring looked up to the ship and wished to be on it as well.  
That lasted round about as long as the Titanic remained in the harbour of Queenstown. It was afternoon when the large ship made its way to the large ocean towards the west.

The next day, Francis and Alasdair spend their time walking around the 2nd class area and wondered if they should even try to spy out the other areas. The area in which the 3rd class was and where the workers of the ship were housed.  
"Th' newfanglt contraptions huv tae be gigantic… ah mean…With th' chimneys bein' sae lairge. Juist keek at thaim."  
"Oui. I wonder how they are storing so much coal in the belly of the ship."  
"Och, mibbie a wee'er ship that is quicker comes by tae refill …"  
"Possibly you're right.. … Oh look, dolphins!"

The two of them rushed towards the front and looked hardly down the water where dolphins were playing to the feet of the Titanic. The dolphins were so tiny compared to the ship.  
"I hope they don't get sucked into the ships propeller."  
The wind on the front of the ship was also amazing, even stronger than when they had been standing on top of the Eiffel tower.  
"Wi' this speed it's na wonder it takes barely a few days 'til we reach America. Dae ye mind howfur mony months it teuk us back then?"  
"I remember this. … But this is kind of wrong. This ship is made so fantastic that you would not even want to go from board. It has so many features."

"…I just hope no accident happens to the ship. Have you seen the lifeboats? I am not a mathematician, but they are clearly not enough for all passengers."  
"…Th' ship is unsinkable, ah heard. It's made frae pure tough British steel."  
"Unthinkable?", Francis replied with his French accent.  
"Unsinkable. It does nae gang doon.", Alasdair his smaller husband an irritated look.

The days on board of the Titanic flew by like nothing. Either, Alasdair and Francis played various games, talked to no end or would enjoy their time separately – the Scot in the smoking saloon which Francis would never step a foot in, and Francis on some of the Decks, secretly drawing the people that would happen to be close.  
By the 14th of April it was rather chilly already. And most of the people would rather spend their time indoors.  
Alasdair was reading newspaper while Francis read a good book. Then, the blonde shut his book with a slight 'thud'. "Alasdair…?"  
"Aye?"  
"Do you have a moment? There is something I want to give to you."  
With a rustling sound, the redhead folded his newspaper and looked at the younger man with a slight confused expression.  
The Frenchman got up and walked to his suitcase – he had been too lazy to unpack everything. "Actually, I wanted to give you this… on 1895, but I kind of missed the date. It was our anniversary… 600 years Auld Alliance. Ehm… this is what our Alliance is named today. Open your hands."

A large blue heart-like-shaped stone fell into Alasdairs hands. It was quite heavy and crystal clear. "It's the French Blue. I've been keeping it ever since the French Revolution. …It's the largest diamond ever found on earth."  
"…", Alasdair didn't know what to say. He simply stared at the stone.  
"I know that your hands are quite a good place for the stone. You will never lose it. A Scotsman does not lose something of value.", Francis joked. He hardly could finish as strong arms dragged him roughly into a narrow embrace.  
"I loue ye, Francis… Sae muckle."  
"… I can't breathe."  
"Sorry."

Just then a terrifying rumble went through the ship, like an earthquake.  
The two of the nations fell silent and listened sharply.  
Nothing else was audible, but the other passengers had also fallen silent, before continuing whatever they had been doing. Scotland and France – familiar with critical situations but sensed danger and went outside their cabin. Before actually leaving, Alasdair had wisely put the stone into his pockets of which he knew he had never lost anything from.

On the top deck, there was several chunks of ice and the iceberg itself was slowly 'driving' by. It was so close that you could touch it right there. Other passengers were staring at it in awe, but carried on as if nothing happened. Especially the 1st class ones were ignorant on this.  
"…What the hell.", Francis growled, as he knew he had obviously missed out on something.  
Several other passengers walked towards staff people to ask them about this, but were told off.  
"Everyone calm down. We have full control over the situation here. Just remain calm."

About 15 or 20 minutes later, the staff was handing out life vests. (compared to today's life vests they were rather large, not as effective and unfashionable.) However, the staff was still telling people to remain quiet. "It's not necessary. We just want to be sure that nothing happens."  
"…Alasdair, something /did/ happen. What shall we do?", France whispered to his husband.  
"We shuid warn th' ithers. …Damn, if ainlie ah knew whaur they're."  
"Okay. .. You, warn the others. You should know where they are. You are a Kirkland. And I get to our cabin to pack the most necessary things. I have a feeling that we soon get to need the life boats. Do you have a watch? … Nice. We should meet in 20 minutes on this deck, hopefully the same place. If not… euh… I don't know. .. Let's just hope for best, alright?"  
"A'richt."

20 minutes later they met at the same spot. By now, more people were on the upper deck and it went rumours that the Titanic had been cut open by the Iceberg, but no one dared to say that out loud. The 3rd class passengers but told that they had seen water entering the ship as they had went up. The 3rd class decks were practically in the belly of the ship, around the gigantic blast furnaces.  
"Did ye git everything?", Alasdair said nervously as he had finally spotted France. Behind him, George and Gwynn also had their most important luggage. It was not a lot, but it was something they certainly not wanted to let go of.  
"Oui, I have … I have everything.", Francis hesitated a little.  
"Are you sure about the ship sinking?", George hissed at Francis excitingly. He didn't want everyone to know in case it was right. It could resolve into a panic.  
"It's 20 past 12… It better be right.", Gwynn said with a grumpy face. She looked around at the people. Some of them were annoyed, some scared, others had that questioning look on their face.  
"Count 1 and 1 together. It will be always 2.", Francis said self-confidently.

The next few minutes actually nothing happened. 25 minutes more and the first life boats were let to water. Most of the people didn't even think that it was of any importance. The Titanic seemed more stable than a tiny life boat. The first few boats were rarely filled. They had been designed for around 40 people to sit in. One of the boats was let to water with /only/ 12 people in there. Additionally to that, only women and children were allowed to enter those boats. It was one of the essential rules.  
"I have an idea… Let's have Gwynn going in one of these life boats. She could take care of our 'important stuff'.", Francis said, not liking what he saw. The ship was now constantly changing the ankle, only slightly noticeable. Still most of the 1st class passengers didn't find it important to leave the ship.  
The brothers agreed. Gwynn didn't want to do that firstly, because she didn't want to be separated… but then there was also a significant importance to her task and she agreed. "We'll see each other soon.", she said before entering the life boat that slowly went down towards the ice-cold water of the northern Atlantic.

"Where is Arthur, by the way? We must find him.", Francis said.  
"He'll be braw. Mibbie he awready git intae a lee boat."  
"We should still look for him.", George said with an almost uncanny serious expression on his face – that was just illuminated by a signal fire that was shot into the sky.  
The radio operators of the Titanic were desperately trying to get near-by ships to come to help. By now, only the Carpathia had replied, being actually interested in that misery.

The three remaining nations searched a needle in a haystack, namely Arthur Kirkland. After what felt like a very long search, they found the lad in the large ballroom below the staircase. He stood there with empty eyes.  
"Why has… everyone… left…"  
"What the hell, Angleterre?", Francis cried, as he practically flew down the stairs alongside with Alasdair and George. On the bottom of the stairs they noticed that water already covered the floor slightly.  
"Sassenach, Th' pumpin' ship is sinking! Snap oot o' it – noo!", Alasdair demanded fiercely.  
But Arthur remained in his trance. If it had been for him, he'd been sinking down with the ship.

As the brothers and France made it upstairs back to the boats, they were still only letting children and women into the life boats.  
"Damnit. .. Francis? Wee prince, ye shuid dress up as a lassie 'n' then git frae boord.", Alasdair suggested.  
"If you want to see me in drag, it's the wrong time. I just heard that on the other side of the ship they let males get into the boats still. Let's hurry!"  
On the other side, the actual Irish constructor of the Titanic helped everyone to get into the boats safely. Under his command way more people got saved, more boats were filled. The constructor had initially wanted more lifeboats on the vessel… but he had been overthrown by the English. Too many life boats would look bad.

It all would have been no problem. The Titanic would have been unsinkable – in case the damage was not too severe – which was the case now. The problem was simply that the iceberg had ripped open over 6 chambers, the strong partition walls could not be of any help at all. The water filled the front chambers (initially 4) and let the front of the ship sink down, allowing for more water to fill the insides of the ship. More water than was good for the Titanic.

The people panicked, shots fell and the last few life boats were filled. The people ran away from the water that was now seeming to come from everywhere and tossed other people off the ship in that process. The orchestra from the 1st class dinner's hall played somewhere on the deck to keep the panic down – now ever as unsuccessful. They had been playing for hours now. The radio operators still worked to get some ships to help although they were close to drowning themselves. The Carpathia was on her way. More rockets were shot towards the sky to illuminate the way to the Titanic.  
George and Arthur made it into one of the lifeboats, the remaining couple Alasdair and Francis had to look for a new one they were already filling. …the only problem was that the actually smart system they had designed for heaving the boats over board and setting it into water clamped.  
It was like the people on the ship would be tortured as there was screams of angst and terror everywhere.

"C'moan, we've git tae gang tae th' rear o' th' ship. It wull sink in lastly.", Alasdair shouted at Francis, giving in to his survival instincts. But the taller man didn't need to say that twice to get the younger blonde to react.  
On their way to the back they climbed over and under obstacles, tried to avoid being bothered by other passengers.  
Francis wondered if they would survive anyway as they were nations and therefore graced with immortality. As they came towards the last chimney… and the last mast, he had to think that they more or less walked over their cabin which was a few feet down and pretty wet. But now with the rear of the ship so high upwards – the screws were already above the water level – it was more unlikely that it was filled with water.  
The first and second chimney of the ship collapsed and fell into the water as soon as they got lose. Almost as if they had been just placed there instead of really being 'sewn' onto the steel.  
"So, this is 'best British steel'?", Francis mocked annoyed. Just then the lights on the ship went out and the people screamed together.

The cables of the mast on the back were suddenly released and swished around like whiplashes, killing a few people in the process. Some of them really close to the two nations.  
It had been a ship of wonders, now it was a ship of nightmares. Yet the end was near. Eventually, the two nations had made it to the rear of the ship, now clutching the railing and hoping for the best.  
"It wull gang doon now… keep yer breath 'n' think o' howfur ye won th' gowd medal oan th' foremaist Olympic games."  
"What if we get separated?"  
"Then we git separated. Let us catch up wi` at least in America. Alfred or Matha kin hulp us then."  
"You're right."

Then, something rather unexpected happened. Due to how the Titanic was constructed, there was a larger duct close to the middle of it, giving the ship a sensitive part. So sensitive that through the gravity, the water and their forces the ship got ripped clean in the middle where the duct had been.  
The front part of the Titanic sank down, while the rear part for now fell back on the water and killed more people during that process if they had not been killed yet by the ice-cold water. The rear part but actually was still connected to the front on some part and got drawn underwater as if led to the grave.  
The rear soon got lifted again, ready for another round.

Francis looked around during that tiring process and looked into the faces of the people around him. They were from every age and social status. Old women, young strong men… even babies. Everyone was in shock and feared for their life. It broke his heart.  
"Dinnae keek at thaim.", Alasdair warned silently, knowing was his husband might think.

Then the last portion of the Titanic sunk into the ice cold water…The sinking left behind some irritations on the surface of the water which made it hard to keep up.  
But then, eventually as the stirring had stopped and calmed down, some survivors had managed to grab some of the flotsam to keep themselves on them and therefore alive.  
France had managed to climb a larger cooking pot and use it as a boat. It was rather ridiculous to look at. At the same time he had also taken hold of the baby he had seen. He now tried his best to keep the small life in his arms alive, which was very hard.  
Usually babies would scream… but this one here seemed weakened and scared. It was whimpering, but only at a rather low level.  
The Frenchman's worry grew steadily and he tugged the baby under his shirt to share his body heat, after he stripped the baby relatively naked. The soaked baby clothes would have been just turning the child into an icicle. Also he paid attention to that he would not suffocate it.

The moon rose, slowly uncovering the disaster that the Titanic had left behind. The victims of the Titanic were still swimming or floating around in the icy water. The actual sinking had not cost the life of many people, but the water now did more.  
Francis thought that he could nearly see the souls leaving their bodies by the second. Why did no ship or boat come?  
The lifeboats were still close-by but ignored the cries for help by the drowning and the ones that froze to death.  
It took two very long hours from the sinking of the Titanic (the last part of it) until the RMS Carpathia and the British Cunard Line came to their rescue.

On board of the British Cunard Line, Francis wanted to give the child he had believed to have saved to the ship's doctor or, moreover to the doctor's assistants. But, it was in vain. The baby had died in his arms already.  
The Frenchman got so depressed over it that he almost wanted to kill himself. The last time he had seen so much destruction and death people was in the 100 years war.  
"Fr…Fraunce…", Alasdair gasped and nearly fell over his wife.  
"Écosse… it's.. terrible."  
"Ye're a' cold… 'n' how come urr ye greetin'? come, let's git ye a het dram 'n' a blanket."  
"Th… the baby.. died…"  
"Whit baby? … Whit?", The redhead frowned and almost knew what had happened. But he couldn't believe it. Between sobs, Francis told him, and the Scotsman felt silent. Still, he dragged his wife around and didn't stop until he was in a warm blanket as well (2 actually, Alasdair added his own to Francis' body) and a cup of hot steaming coffee in the shivering hands.

"Look… ah ken, this is solid. Bit sae mony babies huv died. Children… fowk, that didn't deserve tae die.", the redhead sighed and rummaged his brain for the right words. Actually it was not that he would not believe the younger nation, yet again giving in to the sadness was certainly wrong. "Ye did a' ye cuid dae. Whin th' wean didn't survive it's nae yer fault. 'n' it's. It's oan a better steid noo. Wi' it's parents. Or mibbie it wull be born again oan a happier time. …Would it mak' ye happier if we'd mak' th' wean a proper kist? Y-you ken. Lik' we did for… /her/."  
The last word was almost whispered. Thinking about it made Francis' mind at least more stable. He nodded and clinged to Alasdair.  
"You're all cold yourself! Why did you give me your blanket? Are you stupid? It won't help me in any way when you die also! You must live!", ordered the smaller blonde and clumsily draped the second blanket over the shoulders of the older one.

The two of them soon noticed that the other three (and their belongings) had re-joined on the RMS Carpathia. The two ships now steadily made their way towards the next save American harbour, where they were welcomed by a lot of people who were either happy to see the Titanic (and had not yet gotten to know that the ship had been sinking the last night) or were excited to know about those that had been saved from the sunken ship of dreams.


	62. Chapter 61

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Around 1914, Europe was worried over England and Germany as they had been recently put on an arms race. More, and more improved war machinery all the time. In the beginning it had been subtle, but now it became more obvious. With the Entente Cordiale and the Triple Entente the political situation became even more fragile as Germany was surrounded by enemies and had only Austria as a real ally. Austria himself didn't care as much about the situation and would fight if anything to his dislikes would happen.

In 1914, the Austrian prince Ferdinand got killed in Serbia. It was a chain reaction, which led from the death of the crown prince, over the threat of Serbia-Bosnia, with miscalculations of the whole situation… Austria turned to Germany for help.  
Serbia had Russia as a back-up, so when Germany would attack Serbia, Russia would fight Germany. Germany knew that it would mean a world war and wanted to think about it and tried to talk sense to Austria, before attacking without hesitating.  
Austria didn't want to hear about Germany's opinion, searched in older papers and found an authority paper which enabled him to use Germany as a shield in case Russia would interfere.

But before the war between Serbia and Austria-Hungary actually started, the two parties held negotiations. In them, Serbia agreed to most points which Austria had demanded, but Austria himself declined the whole negotiation at all. Serbia reacted with preparing for the war.  
Right at this time, the French president and the prime minister were guests to St. Petersburg and had guaranteed full support in the case of war. The military weak Russia was glad and therefore happily agreed on supporting Serbia, subscribed to the war. In the next step, Russia mobilised his troops while Austria (and Hungary) and Germany declared war on Serbia. Russia's troops even provoked Germany to mobilise his troops as well.

Regarding Russia's western allies, Germany let Great Britain know that in case of breaking neutrality with Belgium that Germany would not hesitate to attack France.  
Not much later, all of Russia's troops were mobilised. Tsar Nikolaj II. had no idea what he had done with that. As he wanted to undo this, it was too late.  
Germany declared war on Russia, and Russia called France to help him in case the Germans would actually attack. On the same evening, Russia crossed the border to Prussia.

Germany in the meantime also cared about France. As the Russian troops were pretty slow, Germany chose to quickly break through the Ardennes of Luxembourg and Belgium to smack down the French border troops in a flung movement. The whole operation came so quickly that France didn't even have time to concept new Uniforms, he had to take the ones from the Napoleonic times with the dark cloaks and bright red pants.  
On the next day, German troops had besieged Luxembourg already, then asked Belgium to act like nothing happens while Germany would cross her land. She refused.  
The following days later, Germany declared France war, because France had crossed borders on the German Lorraine (Lothringen) and attacked several German cities with airplanes – which was not true at all. It didn't stop Germany from declaring war however.

Somewhat later, Germany received message from Italy, that Germany and Austria were acting very aggressive and too quickly for Italy to react. Furthermore, Italy didn't want to support Germany even though they had an Alliance at that time. Another reason was that Italy was not prepared for open war over the Mediterranean Sea with France and England and therefore remained neutral.

England in the meantime tried to simmer down his population. While they were all for the war as to help the French and to take revenge for Belgium, England knew that being in war wasn't easy, despite he was pretty well armed after he had challenged Germany to an arms race. The following day after some decisions were made, Britain asked Germany to remain neutral towards Belgium. He knew about the plan to cross Belgium. Germany thought that Great Britain was going to declare war with this request regarding Belgium and said that he only wanted peace and that Great Britain could impossibly start war because of a 'piece of paper'.

"Alasdair, I am scared…", Francis begun. "I don't know if I might stand a chance against the German, if they invade, that is. I am a large country, but I am not as well armed as England or Germany…"  
The Frenchman reminded on how he had not really spent any interest or money into warfare ever since Napoleon's comeback (and go away for good). He felt himself too old for this kind of 'game'.  
"….Shall ah gang 'n' blether tae mah wee brother?", the taller man replied. They had just been listening to the radio, talking about how the Germans apparently had decided to invade Belgium and turned declarations of war to anyone in their way at random.  
"I know you hate to beg him for something. I do too. …", the blonde bit his lower lip. It was not like Russia would be able to help them. Russia was far away.  
"Ah don't mynd, if it helps. If it's necessary, I'll dae it. He 'n' ye huv an Alliance, sae he owes ye... Ye wid dae th' identical, richt?"  
"If I could, I would do the same… and it's not an Alliance between him and me, but between all of you siblings from the United Kingdom. Remember that."  
The Scotsman got ready for a short trip to London. His partner held him back a little to give him a last kiss and hug before the redhead would leave.  
"Remain victorious 'til a'm back."  
Francis nodded.

On the 4th of August in early morning, the German Ambassador told Belgium that due to have declined the suggestions; German would have to get rid of the 'French threat' by force. Not many hours and without any warning, the Germans invaded Belgium. On the same day, Great Britain commanded his troops to move to Belgiums aid and ordered Germany to stop until midnight. Since Germany would not stop, Great Britain declared war on the invading nation.  
Luckily, because Great Britain had a very strong naval force, he could send about 100,000 men right away to France's safety.  
4 days later, Great Britain declared war to Austria-Hungary as well.

While the Germans were still gathering on the Western front, a smaller group was already sent to gain control over the Citadel in Liège – which had been taken on the 15th of August successfully.  
After the Germans believed to be attacked by Freelancers and armed Civilians, they became cruel and vicious against the Civilians of Belgium and France - killed, robbed and massacred them randomly.  
And that was not enough, when in hysteria the Germans would even kill each other. The only way to regain control and to prevent the soldiers from killing each other was to order the troops to burn down villages and to deport their inhabitants. Actually, things like those had always been like this in the former wars. Everyone was involved into war in some way, which might appear barbarous today (in the 21st Century)…

France in the meantime had decided that he should not remain waiting for the German blow, or if the British might save him or not and worked on plans of himself as well as moving troops and preparing arms.  
The Germans were concentrating on their plan, the so called 'Schlieffen-plan', to get France with large ring-like movements through which the troops would soon be divided. So the French plan (Plan XVII) was to shoot right into the middle where it would hurt the Germans. Lorraine / Lothringen was supposed to be the aim for this strategy and therefore the French focused on cities that were in the right position and in German hands.  
On the 7th August, Mülhausen could be taken by force. Sadly, after only 2 days it went back into Germany's possession. After new battles around the 24th of August, all Alsatian possessions would remain German until the end of the war.  
The regain of Alsace had failed, but the Plan was good. The fine details were sorted out as well, so the stage was ready for the main attack of the French.

Over 1,7 million French soldiers were drawn together for the next attack according to Plan XVII. The German movements could not be ignored completely and therefore one Division had to be placed further north-west.  
What no one of the two opponents knew was that British Expedition corps had already landed north to Maubeuge in France.

The French operation began at the 14th of August. The 1st and the 2nd Divisions crossed the border and advanced to Saarburg (Lorraine). The 6th and the 7th German Divisions had to retreat during the battles.  
On the 18th August the actual big offensive of the right German wing started to get a hold of the French armies. Two days later, the French prepared their attack towards the Germans.  
When the two Nations met on the Battlefield, a lot of damage was made to both of them, but more damage on the French side as the Germans had used their machine guns very well…

"Retraite (Retreat)!", Francis screamed at the top of his lungs, waving the remains of the left wing over into the northern direction. He hoped to gain more space for a counter-attack this way. Did they not once had beaten the English this way?  
Alas, Germany followed the fleeing troops with his right wing and came closer to Paris.  
The French government under President Raymond Poincaré left Paris on September the 2nd and went to Bordeaux. The defence of Paris was left to General Gallieni. The retreating Army under Francis Bonnefoy went to Paris to gather and prepare for a new attack that should threaten the German advance. Another division was placed in the centre of France.

The Germans were a Tornado that swept over France with high speed towards southwest and south. Alas, the 1st Division had gone stray to follow the British Expedition corps.  
With the stretching of the German troops, the 'tornado' lost its effect and also the numerical superiority wasn't as massive anymore. The encircling of Paris was lost on the 30th of August.

On the 6th September, the battle on the Marne was on. Germany was on his way straight towards the Marne River. The Marne was still very close to the Île-de-France, and thus close to Paris. The French and the British forces had met in Northern France and now were joining forces. The British had brought airplanes and provided the French with information on where the German troops exactly stood. Actually, this technique was so new that the German had, despite their well-armed army, nothing to put against the airplanes that would wander over their heads. The French fought bravely.

On the 8th, the 'Schlieffen'-plan was declared to have been a failure. After the Germans had persecuted the British corps, a larger gap had been created and therefore allowed the enemy in. The intention of the plan was lost.

In the morning of the 9th September, on the Marne, a single man stepped outside into the warm air. It was still summer of course.  
The German uniform scratched Francis skin, he thought and tugged here and there, shifted into a right position. "No wonder they are so angry…"  
The blonde Frenchman but carried on. Along with others, he had captured a German Lieutenant Colonel just one hour ago. He man had been on his way to bring messages from the German communication system. The technology was already so much advanced that one could use a phone without a wire…It worked through radio waves that would go through the air. The ever-moving military troops however didn't have that and therefore needed a person messaging them in person. However, the person in question always had authority papers with them.  
So, Francis was now wearing the uniform of a German Lieutenant Colonel and entered the jeep they had stolen as well. The driver was also actually French but of course wore a German uniform also. He was told to not say a word, while Francis had learned German some ages ago. Unlike most French people he spoke it accent-free (because he had been learning it over such a long time).

The plan was to submit false information to the troops. Just to send them home and away from the Marne – and most likely away and out of France. For this purpose, the Frenchman even had shaved and slicked his hair back to look even more German. As he had taken a look in the mirror he found that he almost looked like Ludwig himself… Ha, no wonder, they had been one and the same nation once upon a time.  
Now, Francis wasn't going to let that happen again with Ludwig being the superior nation of them. He was the younger one.

This mission was tensing him up. Perhaps enough tense to appear German. The jeep drove towards the morning sunbeams and crossed the 'borders' the Germans had put up before their camps. Self-consciously the Frenchman walked to the tent where he assumed the higher-ups. He greeted no one and put up a serious face. He simply saluted those that were even higher ranked than Lieutenant Colonel.  
"Ich habe eine wichtige Meldung durchzugeben. Ich komme gerade vom Hauptquartier. (I have to give in an important message. I just came from the HQ)…", Francis paused to let the sentences sink in and to acknowledge if his accent was showing. "…Die Meldung lautet Rückzug. Absoluter Rückzug. (The message is retreat. Absolute retreat)"  
The Higher-up Germans gasped and stared at Francis.  
"Rückzug, sind Sie sich sicher? Haben Sie das schriftlich? (Are you sure? Do you have that on paper?)"  
"Auf Papier leider nicht. Es ist streng geheim. Was denken Sie, wenn Dies in falsche Hände gerät? (Not on paper, I am afraid. It's top secret. What do you think would happen if this was in false hands). Ich denke, es ist am Besten, ganz schnell die Koffer zu packen. Bewahren Sie Ruhe und Stillschweigen. (I think, it's best to pack your bags quickly. Be quiet and calm about this).", Francis nodded and looked one of the men in the eyes.  
"Ja, aber…(yes, but)"  
"Ja, was stehen Sie noch herum? Denken Sie, ich denke mir so etwas fatales aus? Ich bin Oberstleutnant, ich erfinde keine Märchen. Und wenn Sie meine Worte in Frage stellen, dann auch Die des Generals, der mir diesen Befehl gegeben hat! (What are you waiting for? Do you think, I invented that? I am Lieutenant Colonel, I don't invent fairy tales. And when you doubt my words, you also doubt the words of the General that gave me the order!)"

The German higher ups paled and started to move around. One of them went outside to pass the order.  
Francis in the meantime excused himself. With his rank he had better things to do than standing around. He went back to the jeep that brought him back to the village he had come from.  
Mission complete.

The Germans left the Marne without any significant fighting.


	63. Chapter 62

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The war nevertheless continued in the year 1914. People had predicted it to last longer than one year anyway.  
After the Germans had crossed the Aisne, they dug into the French soil to regain their stability and formation as a strong front army.  
The next step of both the Entente Troops and the Germans was to reach for the northern sea between England and Germany. Germany whereas could achieve some success under heavy losses. He won power over Lille, Gent, Bruges and Oostende – it was not really a lot, but quite something. Germany would not stop his attempt to gain complete control over France. Slowly he would also cut off the reinforcements of the British Allies in Calais.

In the following Battles in Ypern, the French-British Troops succeeded in regaining Boulogne and Calais. The whole thing ended with both parties being frozen to their places. Both had dug trenches - the whole west front went now from the northern sea to the Swiss Border, which means over 700 kilometres / 434 miles).  
The nights in the trenches were often cold, and in the spring, autumn and winter rather wet. Often, the soldiers had to wait for hours until they could move. A false move often ended in death. And the funny and perhaps not so funny thing was that they could practically hear each other's breath.  
The Germans would not leave without an annexation of France.

Still in 1914, the British declared the northern sea to warzone and ordered a distance blockade. Ships that went under neutral flag could simply be shot down by the British. In the declaration of Paris from 1856, the British had subscribed themselves to not attack neutral states in such a case and were now despising their own word.

On Christmas eve in 1914 however, the weapons were being lowered and mainly the English and the German were just standing together and had a chat. Peace for only one night in the rough world of war.

The Ottomans had stopped being French Alliance partners some time ago in the 19th century. As the Germans had gained popularity among them, the Turkish (former Ottoman) agreed on having a military alliance with them, thus also fighting against France in some way. This also concluded to Great Britain declaring the Turkish Empire war, while the Turkish declared the 'Jihad', the 'holy war'. Yet only among the Afghani Troops which were under British rule it came to rebellion, which ended into a war of liberation from the British.

The New Year began with wars that often found place outside of Europe.  
And the first remarkable change inside Europe was when Italy threatened to join the war – and not on the side of Austria-Hungary/Germany, despite they used to have an alliance before the war had begun. At the same time, Austria-Hungary had great losses on the Eastern front due to having lost many men in the winter battle in the Carpathians, to Russia.  
Germany now had to send more men to Austria's help which marked a turn on the Eastern front. Austria himself didn't move a finger from now on.

On the western front in the meantime, the Franco-British Allies followed their classic routine to destroy the large German front bow between Lille in the north and Verdun in the south. The train lines were their main goal.  
Unfortunately, for the next few weeks, the Franco-Brits failed to actually break the siege. During the battles, the Germans threw bombs that were filled with poisoned gas, which was a new element in warfare at that time and also marked the entering of modern mass destruction weapons.  
In April, a heavy northern wind blew blowing it to the French Divisions that fled in panic and caused a 6 km (3 miles) large gap in the Allied defence. Luckily for them, the Germans were too surprised to make use of that, and the gas also had effects to the attackers.  
In the second battle of Flanders in Ypern, the British troops gained reinforcements in the form of Canadian Divisions.

A few days later in April, Australia and New Zealand landed in Gallipoli to hinder the Turkish to get further supplies from outside. The Entente troops tried to also gain the neutral Greece for their will, but failed to do so.

Accidentally, on the 7th May, the German submarine sunk the RMS Lusitania, what concluded in an international wave of protest. Especially Americans had been on board of the Lusitania. About a month later, Germany received the order to not shoot any large passenger liners anymore.

Continuously, the Germans proceeded in using the British-French tactics to their advantage, making it impossible for the allies to aim properly in the end. The traditional defence consisted in having a good sight and a large field to shoot. The Germans changed their position so, their enemies would have a hard time actually hitting them.

On May 23rd, Italy declared war to Austria-Hungary. Germany had recommended Austria to give Italy several areas to calm him and to establish neutrality. Instead, Italy was now at war with Austria, inevitably with Germany too, and neutral to France. The first steps of an 'independent' Italy in wartime was within the Alp mountains and against Austria, the former protector and teacher.

The last greater actions on the West front of the year 1915 were allied Offensives between end of September and middle of October in Artois and the Champagne. Those battles brought large losses and not huge results. The troops of the Entente had losses of a quarter million men for a minimum gain of territory.

The commander of the French troops called in a conference in the beginning of December 1915 to discuss the situation and how they could actually proceed.  
"…because the longer this war takes, the more possible it will be, that we will lose it. And as we are speaking here, our men out there are dying for nothing and nothing. We are not really getting anywhere.", Francis ended, looking at the face of the individual Kirklands. "We have to find a strong solution. Do you have any suggestions?"  
Gwynn (Wales) raised her arm.  
"Oui?"  
"… that means 'aye'.", Scotland whispered to his sister, who had made a confused look, and grinned.  
"Well, I have made detailed maps from what I saw from above over the actual seating of the German troops. Like, where they are sensitive - where we should hit them, in case we were to overthrow them. I am in contact with my pilots and keep this map current."  
"Sounds good…", Francis clouded himself in thoughts.  
"I can still supply us all with weapons… Even you, in case you'd need it.", Arthur said, without announcing his idea. He was still a little too 'arrogant' than lowering himself to this school-like atmosphere.  
"Thank you, Angleterre…", Francis wondered still, if simply hitting the Germans was enough. With the trenches they were still a hard target.  
"This way or another, we won't make it right now…", George (Ireland) started. He had not raised his hand as he thought that Francis became absent-minded. "I'd say we should prepare for such a coordinated attack onto the middle of 1916. Until then we could find a decent weapon."  
Scotland leaned back, grinning satisfied. "Something that does nae care aboot thaim trenches. We shuid keep edgy fur something lik' a moving castle …"

The year ended with inner political tensions within Germany himself. Hollweg, a German politican, stubbornly clinged to Annexation still, not wanting to give up without a decent piece of France.

Just as planned, in the following year there was 3 almost parallel attacks upon the German Front planned. One battle at the Somme (West Front), then the Brussilow-Offensive (East) in which Russia was involved and one attack at the Isonsozo (Sout-East). But the Entente were the not the only ones with plans. The Germans attacked the fortress of Verdun on the 21st of February…

The fortress of Verdun was initially the strongest on the French side, yet had been disarmed in the past year which turned out to be a great failure. The Entente had not expected the Germans to use that weakness for their benefits and to bring movement into the war.  
It started off with the attack of a German division in the north of Verdun, near Ornes.  
France tried to fight off these attacks with stubborn defence, so Germany could not really win any territory.  
A few days later, Fort Douaumont was captured by Germany, which hardly had any tactical meaning but was clearly a warning. If things like this kept on happening, Verdun could not be held. General Pétain was ordered to defend the city of Verdun. Another important thing was how the city could keep up the supply – which why everything was done to keep the route of Bar-le-Duc. Supplies were essential in any battle.

The first round stopped when the German progress faltered due to the Artillery of the French in the heights west to the Maas.  
In the second round, the height of the 'Mort-Homme' (dead man) was taken a lot of times by both the Germans and the French. The battle had been so fierce that the hill had lost over 6 metres (about 20 Feet) due to the shootings. It became the symbol of the 'hell of Verdun'.  
In the third phase, the main aspect was the siege of Verdun itself again. It was already June 2nd, when the Germans stormed Fort Vaux. In the end of the same month, the attackers got stuck with 78 000 men.

On the 1st of July, the Entente had initially planned to attack on the Somme – under the command of the French. But now as France and his troops were stuck in Verdun, England and his brothers had to take over.

11 days further, the French and the German clashed again on Verdun in a final bloody phase. The battles were as if someone had poured water into hot oil.  
Five kilometres northeast to Verdun at the Fort de Souville, the French managed to halt the Germans for good. The French had won the battle of Verdun, but at what cost? Over the time, 337 000 French soldiers were gone.

On the Somme, the brothers (and sister) from the United Kingdom met the German force. Alone on the first day, over 20 000 British soldiers died, the first 8 000 in the first half hour. The German shelters had remained in a good state and so the Germans – again – were lucky.  
Despite the losses, Arthur Kirkland didn't want to give up, thus on the 15th of September it historically came to the premiere of the use of Tanks on the side of the British!  
And Scotland was the first to use them.  
Back then the tanks were not nearly as easy to handle and the occupants were most likely shaken around in that 'tin can'. England was confident that it was just the right thing for his older brother. He was right.

"Woo hoo!", the redhead waltzed over the battle field like he drove a car on his front lawn with no one disturbing him. The Germans were confused and shot on sight, tried to get rid of that 'large steel monster'. But Alasdair didn't feel anything of that. He stirred the Tank on his own despite there was usually at least 3 people needed to use the Tank as stirring, aiming and firing was still complicated. However, the Scotsman was very tall (2 metres, 6'11 by now) and was completely in his element.  
He fired as soon as he saw some German uniforms. The trenches were no longer a problem.  
About 10 days later, the German front was pushed in 8 – 10 kilometres (4 - 6 miles).

However, also in the Battle of the Somme, the losses were immense. For this small territorial victory, the British and the French lost over 624 000 Soldiers. It was the battle with the most losses within the First World War. The end of the Somme Battle ended the optimistic era for the British…

Walking through the makeshift hospital of both Somme and Verdun, Scotland felt uneasy looking at all the hurt people. He himself was barely hurt. He had been in a tank all the time. It had been a turtle shell practically. But… his lover had not been safe in a shell. Poor Francis had been out on the Verdun battlefield all the time. From what he had heard, the Frenchman had lost half of his skull and a leg. So terrible…  
The only good thing was that the blonde was a nation after all. Everything would recover. He had brought a large bouquet of Lilies with him – Francis' favourite flowers.

France did not have to share a large tent with other soldiers… with being a nation came a high rank, almost like a general. So when Alasdair stepped into the tent he only found the smell of a lot of medications and a figure lying on a camp bed covered in sheets and bandages. There, where the face was not covered, was still burnt skin visible. Francis would possibly start crying when he saw himself like that. The redhead hurried hiding every mirror after he had placed the Lilies on a table.  
"Q-qui…? (W-wer?)", an faint voice asked.  
"Ah, Ye're awake? Thank god. Ye … ye don't keek sae weel, wee prince.", Alasdair tried his best to remain casual.  
"Qu'est-ce ... qu'avez-vous dit? (What did you say ?)"Francis asked.  
"…? Francis, Whit urr ye saying? urr ye nae recognising me?", the tall man snickered. Then he concluded that Francis might have really lost his memory. Hopefully only temporarily. He was a recovering nation and… when his brain had been ripped, he possibly leaked memory. So…Alasdair huffed. "Uhm… Je suis… Écosse. D'accord? Eeeecossss~ (I am… Scotland. Okay? Scotttlanddd.)"  
"Ah, un Écossais…Comment est-ce que vous parlez ma langue? (A scotsman ? How come you speak my language ?") ", dark blue eyes scanned the redheads face for a sign of recognition. Alasdair actually found Francis pretty beautiful as he was lying there in the bed… only speaking French.

"Mh.. Oui. Je suis ton mari. (Yes. I am your husband)", Alasdair said, with a faint blush on his cheeks.  
"Ma… mari? Mais, t… vous êtes…beau. (Hu…husband? But, y… you are … handsome.)"  
Alasdair had to chuckle. Beautiful? What a silly wee prince… If the Frenchman didn't have these terrible bandages around his head he would have shown him a mirror and done other things to convince him of his own beauty. But even when Francis remembered, he would say that Scotland is 'handsome' or beautiful – whereas the beauty was more addressed to the actual Scottish soil. It was true, Scotland /had/ beautiful landscapes.  
"You're so cute when you are confused…", Alasdair looked like a satisfied fox and gently petted Francis cheek that was not in bandage. The Frenchman purred lowly and leaned into the touch.  
"Je t'aime…je pense. (I love you… I think.)"  
"Pensez-vous? Ne savez-vous? (You think ? You don't know ?)", Alasdair raised an eyebrow.

For Francis it was as if his body was simply reacting to this redhead man… his heart was beating real fast and he liked talking to him, even though it felt like nonsense. That 'handsome' redhead was speaking his language for crying out loud. No doubt he was a foreigner, but that didn't matter… and his husband? Wait, was he female then? … No, obviously not. Still he felt like a loving wife… If he wasn't in pain so much he would rather get up and cook something for his husband.  
"Et… maintenant. Comment ça va? (And now. How are you?)"  
"Qu… .. Euh… Je me suis blessé, je suppose. (Wh…eh… I feel bad, I think.) Sur la tête et à la jambe ... la jambe semble déformé (On the head and the leg… the leg looks deformed)."  
"Vraiment? Laissez-moi voir. (Really ? Let me see it.)"  
"N… non!", Francis shrieked and tensed.

In fact, the leg had been growing back how it was for nations. Sure, times were hard often for them, but you would never find crippled or scarred nations really, except for when the scars had a special historical meaning. And this was something they could even decide about. However, when for example a leg was growing back, it looked very strange from time to time until it was fully restored.  
"…Je pense que je vais juste ... visiter de nouveau demain. (I guess I will just… visit again tomorrow.)"  
"Non… Ce n'est pas ça ... Eh bien .. pourriez-vous mettre les fleurs dans un vase? Et puis je voudrais que tu restes ici ... aussi longtemps que vous pouvez vous le permettre. Je tiens à vous parler et ça fait peur d'être seul. J'entends gémir les zombies à l'extérieur. (That's not it… Well.. could you put the flowers into a vase? And then I would like you to stay here... as long as you can afford it. I like to talk to you and it's scary being alone. I hear the zombies moan outside.)", with 'zombies', the Frenchman obviously meant the hurt soldiers outside that were moaning from their pain.  
"…Les zombies. (the zombies.)", Alasdair looked for a vase, or a decent makeshift vase, and chuckled to himself over Francis' expressions. "Je t'aime~"

Alasdair still had to go. He had to get some water, food… and other things. He would ask Éire (Ireland) or someone to bring his thing to this tent. He would stay with Francis until he would have recovered (and beyond that, actually).

The next day was already better. Francis had found the English language again and could talk 'normally' to Alasdair. There was still some hesitations but it was alright. He also recognised Alasdair as his long loved lover… and found it quite embarrassing that he had been trying to flirt with him the day before. Flirting with the own husband? Alasdair had found it very cute… that was the main aspect.  
With a walking cane or crutches, Francis could already leave the bed. His head was still hurting as much and not looking really good, which is why the conceited Frenchman didn't leave the tent in the end for another day. Luckily when his skull was back to normal, his hair was also, as the body 'remembered' the structures as they had been before the damage. Still, he needed a walking cane for a very long time…

By the time, the Entente (British and French) were recovering, a new member was found on their side: Romania.


	64. Chapter 63

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The war went mercilessly on, no matter how bad the people had been slaughtered in the Battles of Verdun and Somme. The Germans created a new command and tried to mobilise the last from the ‚motherland'.  
In the meantime in autumn the French armies stroke back and regained control over all of the territories that had been taken by the Germans during their Verdun manoeuvres. When the Germans had to leave Fort Vaux, they bombed it after they had left it behind.  
Still, up to the 16th of December, the French fought back with no problems. Soon the Germans were far away…

A new year was given to the world war and still no end in sight.  
The Entente finally had made up their mind on war goals. Among them was the freeing of Territories which Germany had taken by force, the dissolve of Austria-Hungary after the principals of Nationality and chasing the Turks out of Europe.  
Germany was actually pretty delighted by this revelation. Now he had firm reasons to fight against the Entente and mobilised his naval forces.

By March, the Germans retreated back to their well-developed, so called 'Hindenburg line'. The Hindenburg line was a result of the strong fights in the battles of 1916. As the Germans wanted some safety, they simply had used captured soldiers and forced employees for to build the fortress.  
For to secure the way they had retreated, Germany deserted the way he had come from, deported inhabitants of villages (about 150 000 people), blew up said villages and set out traps.  
On sides of the Germans it was a big success, of course, but it completely ruined the culture and history of the area. At last, the Entente Troops ran into empty fields with no sign of life, it felt like they were in a desert with a few trees.

Over on the eastern Front, Russia was getting other problems now as well. The industrial requirements for warfare had been overstepped greatly and the nation was getting weaker. Bad harvests were also raging the people of Russia. Soon they were ready to overthrow their government in the form of Tsar Alexander III.. It appeared that soon a Revolution was coming. It started out much like how the French Revolution had started: Not enough food brought riots with them, the Tsar declined reforms… but the Soldiers that were used to calm the riots with brute force actually joined the poor villagers and citizens against the Tsar and his nobles. In the end, the Tsar abdicated and walked out of the limelight with his family…he and his family were murdered in the summer of the same year.  
The Soviets ruled over the land. Another farmer revolution took the landlords their houses and farms which the farmers now had for themselves.  
Things in Russia however remained too unstable to continue the war against Prussia and Austria-Hungary. The third greater Entente partner withdrew from the world war, leaving behind the British and the French (and Romania).

"Dear Russia,  
… why the hell did you have to quit the alliance and shut yourself into your little snowy den, you little coward?", France said to the typewriter machine he was using.  
"Don't you find that a little too rude?", England asked while he was stitching a pattern into a piece of cloth. The Kirkland family and Francis, were sitting together - partly discussing the war, the strategy, but also trying to recover from the bloody warfare of the last year for once.  
"One should not mess with Russia. He is… fearful.", George (Ireland) said, looking rather absent-minded.  
"But it still annoys me. It had been a chain reaction how things have turned this way. If it wasn't for Russia's sake we wouldn't be in this war.", Francis crumbled the paper after he had dragged it out of the typewriter. He tossed the crumbled paper towards the bin, but missed it.

Scotland just stepped in, picked up the crumbled paper and threw it into the bin where it was supposed to land in. He was smoking a pipe, from which he knew that at least Francis appreciated it. It was strange how his wife disliked cigars and cigarettes but was fond of the smell of pipes. Alasdair would tend to smoke pipes more often so.  
"Be formal 'n' polite, bit speak yer mynd.", he recommended to the blonde Frenchman.  
Francis nodded and then sighed, trying to focus his thoughts upon the paper he was now fixing into the typewriter.

"Dear Russia,  
it has been quite a surprise to the members of the original Entente, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and me, the republic of France, that you have pulled out of the war that is already going on for such a long time.  
It has not slipped our minds, that you are going through a tough phase in your life. Much like you I have gone through a Revolution.  
However, as you might know, we still are in this war and we would appreciate your help in this issue. If you cannot afford sending us soldiers, then please do send supplies, such as weapons, food or other goods that you no longer need and are able to send us. Anything, as little as possible, is a help for us and will be rewarded in a near future.

Best wishes  
Republique de France, Francis Bonnefoy", actually only Arthur subscribed as well, in the place of his brothers and sister. But everyone agreed that Russia could at least help them in a material way.

In the next time, Russia didn't reply as his hands seemed to be too full with his own Revolution. But in his place soon a new ally for the entente appeared on the western horizon.

On April the 6th the United States of America declared war to the German Empire. Already before America's step into the war, the sovereign nation had come to the conclusion that on the long run, Germany became more and more a threat to the American interests. The sinking of the large ship Lusitania had also been a sting in the claw of the white headed eagle. So now was the time to get rid of that stinging sensation and of the reckless Germany who had been the cause of so much discomfort.  
And last but not least, America was still somewhat indebted to France, since the French nation had helped him during the American Revolution against Great Britain.  
Soon after the declaration towards Germany, the declaration towards Austria-Hungary followed.

Regardless of the huge losses of the former battles, the Entente had to put up with large offensives further ways on their front. This time, France decided one of them to be at the northern French city 'Arras'. At the same time, the Germans had to be halted at Aisne and in the Champagne. The main goal of the French was to gain control of the 'Chemin des Dames', the 'way of the ladies'.

On the Aisne, the French put in more soldiers and weapons than before in Verdun. The tragedy should not be repeated. This time also, Francis himself was not allowed to participate in the front – according to Scotland who wanted a safer place for his lover. France disagreed at first, because it had always been Scotland who had told him to 'be there for his people'. But things changed apparently and Alasdair would always manage to prevail.  
Alas, the battles had to be interrupted after a lot of losses again in May. The German troops had changed their tactics and dug the trenches deeper and closer at each other than before.

France was being frustrated with this back throwing events. Despite of all this 'waste of material' there was no success in the air. The whole plan seemed devastated.  
"I can't take this shit anymore!", Francis cried, walking among his soldiers around on the eastern front. In the background the other soldiers were still fighting, while the 'fresh' soldiers waited for Francis' commands. But the nation was throwing a tantrum. They were getting nowhere. "It might be as well best if we put on a strike… and leave it to the British to avenge us.", the blonde murmured.  
"What is the reason for this chaos?", a harsh voice asked. It was a man of middle age or older. He looked like old wood and his eyes held the chillness of a strict father. It was the 'hero of Verdun', Philippe Pétain, who was now beside Francis in charge of all the French troops. He stopped at France, who was still busy throwing a tantrum and punched him sternly into the face.  
"You're the commander of these troops, right? Why don't you show any discipline? Do you think they will win this war when you are like this? You must show them how to behave on the battlefield."

Various soldiers were stepping out of the line. Pétain didn't hesitate to shoot them down, killing them instantly. The rest of the soldiers stopped, not wanting to move and risk their life on a crazy commander like this.  
In the meantime, Francis had regained his composure and was weeping blood from his nose. "What's wrong with you? Who are you anyway?"  
"I am Philippe Pétain. But that doesn't really matter. What matters is how and when we will win this war. With a commander like you I am not surprised that the war took so long and that the Germans still are in charge of French territory… You, if you continue being respect less, I will kill you too.", the old man shouted at a soldier who had only sniffed due to the cold he had. The man immediately stiffed up. "Now that I am here, there will be proper breaks and better supply for the soldiers. Just look at the Germans… They are rushing to win this war. Soon they will be exhausted…. This is the chance we will grab victory. Our soldiers will be rested and fighting in good state!"

And certainly, with Pétains plans, the French troops regained their stability, became stronger and more disciplined. The Germans would stop having fun with invading the land.

However, success would not come immediately. The French army refreshed, recovered but it was still a long way to go to regain peace. The great offensives lead by the British also brought no success, no matter how many soldiers and arms they brought with them.  
In late June, Greece joined the Entente forces against the Middle powers. Possibly mainly against Turkey under whose hand he had been for such a long time. He had a 'faint' dislike for the older nation.

The Entente asked Russia in the meantime to attack Germany in order to catch some breath themselves. Russia tried but soon failed to do so due to inner politic tensions. The Germans were simply too strong (on Russia's front it was rather Prussia who fought while Prussia's brother Germany fought on the Western front). The military defence of Russia nearly collapsed in the end.  
In the end of October, the middle powers managed to throw back the Italian forces, whereas French-British Divisions had to come to Italy's aid.

In the beginning of November, the Situation in Russia escalated. Lenin had returned from Finland, from his exile, and was now pulling through the revolution of Russia. The provisionally government was overthrown by the Bolsheviks. The plans of the Bolsheviks had it that Russia would now finally exit war, and also exit the Triple Entente for good. The peace treaties were made in the middle of December. There was no further help from Russia and Prussia could gladly join his brother in the west to fight against France and the brothers of the United Kingdom.

In the next few battles, one rather unimportant at Cambrai, brought the knowledge that after short Artillery a quick ride of the tanks could bring a breakthrough through the trenches, and therefore victory. The Germans had so far underestimated the use of tanks and hardly had their own tanks.

The Germans but never waited long for an opponent to become stronger. After making the peace treaty with Russia, a deliverance of supplies from Ukraine secured that the German and Prussian soldiers had enough to eat, when Prussia finally arrived on the Western front.  
"Yeha! Ore-sama is here now! Bruder, I will beat down the gay sassy French with you! Wahaha~!", Gilbert announced, shamelessly. Ludwig himself tried to stay focused and not let himself being distracted by his very self-conscious older brother.  
"… Danke, das du kommen konntest. Ich hoffe mal, das wir mit den Briten und den Franzosen kurzen Prozess machen können. Der Krieg dauert mir so schon zu lange. (…Thanks for coming. I hope we can get rid of the British and the French now easily. The war lasts too long as it is.)

The two brothers watched the grey battlefield as commanders like two raven eagles their prey. Together they were almost invincible.

"Bongjour! Eet's okay, Jee soyyy Americaaa!", Alfred F. Jones cried out as he arrived the battlefield. From his view, everything was dark as well, but behind him was practically a rainbow with him being the pot of gold at the end.  
"…stop raping my language.", Francis frowned. He was happy to have found in Scotland the only Kirkland that also spoke French decently. With accent, but fluently. The other Kirklands didn't dare to speak it, and Alfred the 'Ex-Kirkland', was practically ruining it, eating it up. "If you cannot speak it, then shut up. Use your own language. … Oh wait, you don't have one!"  
Unexpectedly, the young American was pouting and firing a deathly glare at the older nation. "… I have an own language. But no one would understand it.", America was actually no longer a teenager. He was only about 400 years old and already had the appearance of a 20 year old.

The Germans planned to separate the British and the French forces by using poisoned gas and artillery. On the morning of late march in 1918; the largest artillery fire was fired by the Germans. Eye-witnesses claim to have seen it coming from about 6000 guns. Germany and Prussia reached real deep cut into the British Front, which nearly dissolved on several sections. After only few days, the Germans proceeded over 70 kilometres (43 miles). But also so soon, the Germans lost their tempo, going back to the Trench warfare.  
Under the pressure of this threat, the Entente Forces called in to have a common supreme commander for all the forces (Belgium, France, the four British nations, the Common Wealth, America, etc.) in the Form of the French Marshall Ferdinand Foch.

By the end of May, the united forces against Germany had organised themselves so well, that America took over at the section in Lorraine, while the French could majorly go into defence against the German Offensives. On the third of June, the Germans ceased to attack on the Aisne. And also thanks to the America and the massive use of tanks, the Allies already could go over into counter-offensive in the middle of July on the Marne and the Aisne. And on the Somme, the Germans took their first major defeat.  
Overall, the Germans had to retreat from summer 1918 on. It went bad for them.

By November, the Germans only held captured a little part of Northern east of France and good half of Belgium as well as Luxembourg. It was as if a virus had gone all the way back it had come.  
The Bulgarian and the Ottoman allies of the Germans had given up as well by the middle of the same month. Under these circumstances, Germany considered a truce between the two large groups of opponents, the Middle powers and the (extended) Entente.  
America requested reforms, the fall of the Monarchy in Germany and the deduction and renunciation of foreign territory. Germany agreed on reforms, but not to leave the other nations without having at least a tiny piece of them.

In October 1918, the unified Nation of Austria-Hungary dissolved. In the end of the month, Czechoslovakia was founded. One day later, the state of Croats, Serbs and Slovenes was founded, which would soon become Yugoslavia (after 1929). Galicia became part of Poland again and Italy reached a breakthrough.  
As a final move, Austria became part of the German state, while Hungary became independent again.

In the end, Germany aimed to try one more strike against the Royal Navy. But among the naval forces of the nation it soon came to rebellion. They wanted peace.  
Lastly, the Emperor abdicated and the crown prince didn't want the throne. On the 9th of November, the German republic was 'born'.  
The Emperor of Prussia fled into Netherlands exile – without saying a word about or to those soldiers that had died and killed in his name.

From the 7th November on, the French Marshall and four German politicians debated over a peace treaty between the Allied Entente and the German Ex-Empire.  
"I want you to go beyond the Rhein, to give up the Alliance with Ukraine, and on top of that, to give us all of your weapons and means of transport.", Francis said.  
Gilbert looked like a mixture of angry and ashamed. So soon the war had stopped now. He wanted to say something, but America and Scotland warned him practically… 'move a finger and we'll turn you over'.  
"…Agreed.", Ludwig said in the place of his brother. "But for now it will be only for 30 days."  
"That's fine.", Francis smiled. He had not unseen the glances Prussia and his bodyguards had exchanged.

On the 11th of November, at 11 a.m., the arms finally fell silent. The First World War was over.


	65. Chapter 64

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

„… and I strongly believe that you will regain Independence not long before.", Francis Bonnefoy explained to his husband, while giving his cup of coffee a gentle stirr with a spoon.  
The Scottish redhead and the French blonde were sitting in a neat little café somewhere in a side street of the main street in Edinburgh. It was the district in which they had used to live, many centuries before.

Now, after the World War, the couple had decided to move to Alasdair's home once again. Initially they had planned to take turns, so no one would feel homesick. In the end due to the separations of the two, they lost track of it and ended up moving to France or Scotland whenever they pleased and the economic structure and Arthur would allow it - While in France, the inner politic Situation was very instable, Scotland witnessed an industrial boom right after the war.  
The surer was Francis, that his lover would become independent again.

"Dae ye pure think sae?", Alasdair thought for a moment. Actually he liked his only duty of being a correspondent of France… well, between France and Great Britain. Back then the Clan fights had been frustrating. These stoic old Scottish. But they had been much like him family people, just caring about their own flesh and blood. In fact, Scotland himself had found it very odd, when he had to marry Francis and go against his youngest sibling, just because his king had foreseen England to be once a monster.

"Oui.", Francis believed in their relationship. At least most of the time. Just lately he had been starting to think again… wonder why they worked together so well, when in truth they didn't really have anything in common. Back then when they got married, they shared the enemy called England. Their marriage had lasted now more than 600 years… Francis remembered being critical about their relationship in the middle ages after the 100 years' war. Especially when there had been this guy from the Isle of Man. Scotland was a silent guy, who rarely smiled. He spoke with his body, strong muscles moved beneath the pale skin that was here and there scarred. Actually he was a very sad person. He would often only smile around Francis, the most time he spoke with him. It made it all seem like he was Francis' 'puppy'. And though Francis didn't like dogs at all, he had much likely welcomed this guarding companion who was following him silently like a shadow. Despite the redhead acting so invisible, Francis always knew where he was. Francis himself was nothing like that. He had gotten to know that especially when he compared his early life in the Normandy and his life at the court of Versailles. Normandy had felt like an Exile. It had been only Scotland and him… surely it had been bliss, but Versailles had been very attractive. Everyday something unforeseen would happen, everyday a new challenge, new faces, new parties. And everything was so sparkling and shimmery. He had liked flirting with everyone. It had appeared to be his nature.

One firm reason to love Scotland was – at least to the Frenchman – that the redhead… had this strawberry red hair, and had an amazing lot of emotions and ways of thought, once you'd get beyond the almost hostile muteness. He was really soft and caring in the heart, that Scotland. A man to be married to, not a quick and kinky sex affair.  
Perhaps it was also simply the fact that they had promised each other to be there for one another. During the 100 years' war, Francis had also concluded that he would try to restore Alasdair's almost inhuman powers whenever he could.

The time now after the First World War was rather peaceful. Over in France, the several political parties tried to challenge one another, trying to gain control over the land. Francis was glad to be out of his country.

Charleston music played on the radio the café house owner had put up. Some of the younger couples got up to dance. This time was surely a lively one. But unlike back in the times of Versailles and the likes, everyone could have a good time. Just to get out, dancing, listening to music.  
Lately, people have also been talking about a certain 'black skinned' girl named Josephine Baker from America. Her way of dance was almost obscene.  
"Euh… well…", Francis started to change the topic as he noticed that Alasdair didn't like talking about independence. "How about we'll go to see a movie tonight? At the theatres?"  
"…Sure, how come nae?", the expression on his face changed a little.

But then suddenly, like out of the blue, a young boy was standing beside their table. He possibly had been standing there for a few seconds… however, no one of the two knew where he had been coming from. He was having ginger hair, thick eyebrows, some freckles on his cheeks, but an eye-colour of the ocean. And he was smiling like he had just got his Christmas gifts. "Hehe.. it's you.. it's really you. I finally found you~"  
Francis almost got scared since he thought this was a retard – or even worse, a murderer! If only his bodyguard / Alasdair wouldn't sit on the other side of the table!

"Who are you?", Alasdair asked, being just as irritated, and gave the stranger a stern look.  
"Your son! I am your son!", the young man angrily said. "My name is New Caledonia. I have been waiting all of my goddamn life to get to you! Do you have any idea of all I had to do? You're being mean… and bad parents. Why did all my other siblings get to know you. Didn't you want to see me at all? Here, I brought baby photos in case you were interested, but I guess I can burn them now, that I…"  
"Merde alors, fermez la bouche! (Holy shit, close your mouth!)", Francis shouted and slammed his hand onto the table. The other guests looked over to their table. "…seriously, how do you expect us to follow your rant? We're old men."  
There was a short silence for a moment. Only the annoying sound of the Charleston music was heard.  
"Could we discuss that at home? … garçon, we'd like to pay."  
"…Th' waiter insae cried 'garçon' 'ere.", Alasdair remarked slightly stressed. There was his son? New Caledonia? As far as he knew it had been discovered by a Scotsman… and was in French hands ever since, making it a French colony. The name had remained – one of Scotland's many names – Caledonia.

"What's your actual name?", Francis asked on the way home. He believed that the guy was 'New Caledonia'. He had a passport – which only said his nation name – and he resembles Alasdair as well as himself.  
"I don't have an actual name. I have a nickname... they call me 'Ginger' at home because I'm the only redhead there. I was hoping that my real parents could give me a name."  
"…Alexander Bonnefoy.", France bluntly said and blushed slightly.  
"Alex…?!", Alasdair almost halted abruptly. Alexander was also another version of his name. The older redhead wondered if this guy really was his son… But the red hair proved it all. Despite that he mostly looked like Francis.  
"Alexander Bonnefoy? That sounds good…", the ginger smiled and repeated the sound of it in his head continuously.  
"How did you get here anyway?", Francis asked.  
"Well… I have been living on the Island for a very long time. Visitors are actually rare. But one day I decided to see the world and stepped on board of a bypassing boat… Then I got to the United States over some detours. There I learned some English and learned about your history. The Auld Alliance sounds so romantic…"  
"Do you speak French too?"  
"Oui."  
"Bit nae Gaelic or Scots …", Alasdair pouted a little.

"I am sorry, I … just fell into your lives.", Alexander said, when they got home. He looked around, trying to get along with these unusual surroundings. Back on his island in the south pacific everything had been different. Over in America also. "…You Europeans seem to be kind of strange."  
"We're original. We spread colonies all over the world… some of them seemed to have lost their own culture by that act. However, we kept ours. That makes us strange, different.", Francis explained. "It's pretty… stone age-ic. We all had to fight for our lives, no matter where and when. Other nations and tribes fell for the sake of our culture. We were more advanced in weaponry... However, we were lucky to have survived so many years, centuries."  
"You're still strange. … I mean.. I have seen men wearing skirts here.. around the corner.", Alex pointed to outside.  
"Thae ur na skirts, they're kilts!", Alasdair shouted, casting his 'son' a dark gaze. "Haes thare ne'er bin a real Scotsman at yer island? That's th' claes o' oor fowk."  
"But only since the 17th century… or something like that.", Francis chuckled. He had also been confused as he had seen his husband the first time in a kilt. A moment later the Frenchman considered, bringing more Scottish to New Caledonia. The boy needed a sk… a kilt himself. And Francis was glad that he did not get to wear a kilt. Alasdair had not come to ask him to wear one yet.

"Have you ever been to the pacific?", New Caledonia asked them both.  
"Not me."  
"Nae."  
"I wanted to see the Japanese islands once… it's been too long.", Francis shook his head. "When it was around 1889, I had received a letter from your island on my birthday and I wrote back. I don't know if you ever got to know about it. I wanted to visit you, but a lot of things had come in between. Several wars."  
"And … and /dad/?", new Caledonia looked sternly at Alasdair who had moreover been silent all the time, like usual.  
Alasdair himself stirred and blushed feeling a little uneasy and lit himself a cigarette – he seldom smoked cigarettes as they were easier to make than stuffing a pipe. "Ah huv bin thare fur Fraunce. 'n' whin nae fur him then fur yer Uncle Sassenach... He's an' a' Great Britain 'n' Ireland."

"…I see…? I have a hard time understanding you, by the way. Could you talk normally just like all the other people?"  
"But he is not 'all the other people'.", Francis defended his husband. "Accept him the way he is. He is… older than you could even imagine. He does not need to change. The world needs to change for him. You better leave him be."  
Alba didn't know whether to be happy or to be even madder. Was that an insult about his age or was he simply warding off that puppy? "Urr ye sure, he is oor son? oor bairns hud bin sae sweet aye…"  
"We didn't raise him."  
"Don't speak like I am not here!"

Francis wondered what this would make out of their life. New Caledonia could not be this old… Now, the theatre on the evening had to be canceled possibly. Too bad, he would have liked to watch a movie with Alasdair. Being in a dark room with him and being entertained the same way was very comfortable. Hopefully, technologists would improve on this side. Would it not be wonderful to watch movies at home? In the intimacy of the own four walls?  
"Euh, Alexander… Do you received any schooling on how to become a nation? How to read and write? Some calculations?"  
"I went to school…?", N. Caledonia looked at Francis as if he had been nuts. "Look, if I had not been able to read and write, I would be still on my goddamn island."  
"… Please don't curse like that."  
"Why? You cursed too!"  
"I am older than you. You're not an adult and … actually, I try to do some late parenting here. I want your siblings to not hate you."  
"Canada? He's a flake."

Francis smacked New Caledonia firmly onto the cheek and gave him an ice-cold stare.  
"No one calls Canada a flake."  
Alexander but growled and tears were slightly coming out. "Why did I come here? You all seem to not want me! You want to make a different person out of me. Why can't you accept me the way I am? I hate you! I hate you all!"  
The boy ran off.

Francis didn't bother following the lad. Instead he stared at the hand who had slapped the teen and wondered if he really did something wrong.  
Alasdair, who had been in the kitchen for some time, returned into the living room and didn't need to ask what had happened. Despite his 'old age' he still had sharp ears. "…Whit wull ye dae? gang efter him?"  
"… Non. I will see baby photos.", Francis said, in a sudden urge to see a toddler nation. Scotland grinned.

New Caledonia had left behind his photo album. Francis wondered if he could use it for blackmail. One way or another it would be very interesting. Upon opening the front cover, he flipped the pages, revealing the pictures of a happy little ginger baby among south-east Asian people. The pictures were black and white mostly, but one could tell…Alexander really had looked alien there among the natives… but nevertheless happy.

Redheads were expected to be happy anyway. With a frown, the blonde looked at Alasdair and wondered if that could also apply onto him.  
"Are you happy?"  
Alasdair frowned. "…Whin a'm wi' ye?"  
"… hé bien. .. Look at this. He had your cheeks. I bet he has your appetite too."  
Scotland blushed and sat down beside Francis to have a look into the album as well.  
"…such tiny fists. Like Angleterre. He has his genes too I guess, so some of your siblings stuff is on him also."  
"Bit he haes yer locks curls… 'n' yer een."  
"My curls?", Francis unconsciously touched his hair tip and thought for a moment that he got his hair curls actually from his father, Rome. Gaul never had any curls, she had straight hair. Then again, Francis was his very own person. He snorted. "I think we should get him still. And just take him out with us… watching a movie can't be too expensive, right?"

So, France had decided to have the three of them going to the theatres. It seemed that before there was any raising, there had to be created a bond of love beforehand. New Caledonia should know that he was welcome and considered a part of family. It was still difficult, because he was rather 'wild'. He spoke his mind and hurt the feelings of his parents unconsciously.  
It took the three of them some time, but eventually they grew together.


	66. Chapter 65

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

It was the roaring Twenties, the golden twenties. Dancing became popular as well as jazz, politics and hunger dictated the people's lives, but the same way nudism – or rather 'naturism' blossomed anew. Germany still had to pay off his debt, producing for France's and Belgium's sake, for the lands he had destroyed…  
The farmlands were poor, food was rare. It was a time of new liberties but also restrictions.  
The year 1921 was therefore just a year like any other before.

Just that there had been the Anglo-Irish war in which Ireland basically had rebelled against the rule of England. He didn't want to be ruled by his younger sibling. And actually, Wales and Scotland had most understanding for him. In the end, no one really won and the country was split 1921 into the protestant Northern Ireland and the catholic Republic of Ireland.

After the war had settled down and the split was almost complete, a small child had appeared. It had just been left behind somewhere and it was mystical, as it was simply wrapped in drapes that appeared several hundred years old and along with this was also old plants, flowers that were believed to be extinct. The case was brought forth to London where Arthur Kirkland took notice from it. He recognised the baby as a nation, granted with immortality and its future was lying there to be the personification… of the Northern Ireland.  
Arthur planned to care for that baby the best he could. It was not his first. He used to have several children… Hong Kong, Australia, New Zealand, just to name a few. But this here was different. It was actually his sibling, he figured. So, without any further notice, the Ancient Britannia had appeared once again.

About two years later, a great depression hit Scotland out of the blue. Industries were going bad, his products just wouldn't sell and it hit the craftsmanship and all the smaller people really hard. After all, the abuse from the English on the unemployed Scottish was still strong. There was no help, Scotland was still regarded strong, but dumb. The perfect victim for abuse at all. Francis didn't know what to do with his husband. Most of the time now, he was sitting on the sofa, staring holes into the air and smoking to no end. The only thing that sold in the Scottish economy was Scotch. Chemicals and Whisky were also doing great.

However, now that Ireland had split off previously, Arthur feared that Scotland would do the same and ordered to put military issues in Glasgow and several other Scottish cities. Soon enough, the country resembled a warzone.  
The labour party inside Scotland however developed, making an early and rather passive start for a movement towards an independent Scotland somewhere in the future. Scotland himself remained calm, despite all of the despair.  
France still hoped for his husband that the depression would go away and that it was only a smaller fight between the siblings. The Kirklands would often fight after all…

By the year of 1929, the gap between poor and rich across Europe had become actually too large. Political Parties literally abused the situation, trying to lure people to vote them, guaranteeing them jobs in case they would get voted by the lot of them. It was a black Friday on which the stock market of New York broke in. As America was already one of the richest places on the earth, this was a very serious issue and a lot of nations depended on that market. A world economy crisis was the consequence.  
People would now do anything for a decent job. Long hours, hard labour, everything for to get money to 'pay the rent'.

In Germany there was but one man and his party that promised all of that. And moreover was even pointing out someone who was to blame for it. The Jews. The Jews had always been involved in one way or another into money, since they could not really get into craftsmanship, the guilds were closed societies in themselves. And other things were unthinkable also. It was certainly not their fault for the crisis.  
Adolf Hitler had just found someone to blame, and his party NSDAP was standing behind him in that issue.  
Soon enough, the people would eat from his hands, buying the rumour that it was the Jews fault. The people were also not really to blame. They were pretty much like hungry children looking for food. It was certainly a bad time.

However, from outside Germany no one really knew or cared about that. Just around the same time when Hitler became Chancellor in Germany in the beginning of the year 1933, Mussolini in Italy with the same ideas and ideals had worked his way up into power. He was had been into dictatorship 11 years before Hitler became Chancellor and knew what he was doing. After he had taken care of the king of Italy, he had set his own guys for ministries. The alliance between Italy and Germany was perfect. They were called ‚Axis Powers'.  
Some years later, Japan joined the two, reinforcing the Axis. Prussia and Austria belonged to the Axis by default, as they were Germany's 'brothers'. Just like South Italy had to join in because his brother had agreed on the alliance. In 1939, Spain joined the slightly fascist oriented Axis Powers under Franco.

From 1933 on, the fascist thought bred inside those Axis nations, they prepared for war. One of the goals of Germany was, next to the Jews, the regain of Prussia. Poland had to be annexed for that purpose, and thus this was the first step in this war in 1939.  
France and Great Britain immediately declared war on Germany.  
The republic of China soon joined the Allied Forces, as Japan was a common enemy. Upon that Germany had invaded Poland, Russia reacted also with a declaration of war as the Soviet Union felt threatened by the attack. However, he but sent the declaration to Japan instead of Germany.

"…ancis."  
Francis stirred lightly in his sleep, but not wanting to actually wake up.  
"Francis…"  
He still didn't want to. What was this voice talking to him anyway?  
„FRANCE!"  
„Gah, what do you want!?", turning around, the Frenchman noticed that his usual bed companion Alasdair was gone – and that England was standing beside his bed. "How did you get in!?"

Arthur had to smirk lightly as he watched the older man covering himself up, despite wearing pyjamas. "Scotland is gone, just to say it straight away. You have been sleeping too long. But that's alright. I have plans in labour and my brother is part of it. I sent him back home to prepare a training ground for the Allied Forces. I sent letters to my colonies and our alliance partners… my other brother and sister must also be already there. It's also not news that you are not prepared at all. Mh… Alasdair has been waiting for you, but you wouldn't wake up. Too bad you missed each other's goodbye."  
Francis groaned and wanted to flop back into bed. He hated mornings like these. And he hated when he regretted that he had slept too much or too long. "Then… will you kindly leave the room? I must get ready when Écosse is waiting for us. And not only he is waiting…"  
"Of course… I wouldn't want to see that garbage.", England said and left the room.

It disturbed that England was in his house, so the Frenchman hurried getting dressed and ready. He figured that England had entered the house in the early morning, talking a bit with Alasdair, convincing him to be in charge of a training ground. .. The Scotsman had left and England had stayed behind. It was nice to know that Scotland had /not/ been abducted. But still things were awkward between England and France. Letting the two of them be together for longer time would still result in fightings.

"You know… it was not nice watching me sleep like this.", Francis said, as he walked across the living room to grab his coat close to the entrance. He had just taken the most necessary things with him in a bag.  
"And you know that you are a heavy sleeper."  
"Then how are we getting over? By a c-"  
„Airplane."  
Francis panicked. He had never set foot from the ground really. He had been on several boats and ships, which had been exciting enough. But now completely off the ground? Flying? He had seen enough accidents happen that way. The victims corpses had always been damaged to no recognition… "I-i-i-i don't know if th-th-th-this is such a good idea…"  
England just laughed and they both took a taxi to the next airport.

Airports back then were quite open and unorganised. Basically everyone with an allowance could enter and use an airplane or something else for to travel. England told France that he had made some training in piloting, thus having a ticket with him that allowed him to fly. Arthur picked a propeller airplane for to fly straight to the Scottish Highlands.  
"Twist the propeller in the front.", Arthur ordered while he put on the helmet and goggles, shut the safety belt and started the engine. The airplane needed a little support with the propeller in the beginning but was easy to handle the same way.  
"I still don't really want to. Why am I doing this…?", Francis murmured while doing as the British nation had ordered. The motor got into working state and France had to get into the machine. England helped him and have him a second helmet. "But this is making me ugly."  
"When you fall out of the machine without the helmet you will look even uglier. Just put it on. Your hair is ruffled anyway."  
Francis cursed and put on the helmet and shut the safety belt.

Soon the airplane rushed over the runway. It was a little bumpy road that let straight into the sky. Francis recognized that feeling when he had been sitting on a horse for the first time… with Alasdair. He had been scared the whole time, but when they had been on full speed, he had opened his eyes and it all had felt very amazing.  
And so this one also felt amazing. Francis looked beneath them and saw Edinburgh from above as England flew a last loop before heading to the north. France regretted not having made this experience with Alasdair.

They made it safely to Inverness, a city right in the Highlands, offside every normal road and still in the middle.  
France's knees felt shaky when he set foot on firm ground again.  
"Come on, we have no time to waste.", Arthur ordered and grabbed his shoulder to drag him with him. Outside you could also see other airplanes, larger and smaller. But mainly larger. There was one from Canada, another one from Australia. One from China, another from the Soviet Union.

Soon after their arrival, the two of them entered the main quarter of the Allied Forces in Scotland. It was actually just an old Inn. The Innkeeper didn't really care about this dramatic wave that splashed over his house unless they paid him enough. But still the different English accents were annoying him, why he was often rather rude or harsh to the visitors.  
"You should change into your uniform soon. I will see you in half an hour on the training ground. Here is the map on how you get there. Good luck.", England said and walked off into another direction.  
"… Nice.", Francis murmured, but entered the Inn. There was a room rented under his name and the blonde found out that it had to be the largest room in the whole Inn. On the night table was a small letter from Alasdair, greeting him nicely and asking him to come to the training immediately.

After changing into a uniform with brown knee high boots, bright red pants and a long blue coat with a matching capelet, France headed for the so much priced training ground. He actually could care less about training. There had been two larger times in which he had lost a lot of weight, and muscles of course, but he was still in good shape in his opinion. No body fat at all, no problems with moving… he only got tired really fast but this seemed normal at his age.

On the training ground there was already several things going on. Some were plainly running around – with or without weights. Some were climbing walls and other things that looked hard to climb on, and yet others were sparring… were fighting with each other like they were fierce enemies, but only for training purpose. And then there was shooting in the distance. Possibly practice with shooting weapons.  
The Frenchman spotted his lover between the walls – and other obstacles through which he chased the poor nations without mercy. Alasdair wore a uniform he had never seen before. Not on his people nor on anyone else. It was dark knee high boots, dark blue pants and jacket, a white cross over his torso like the English or American had in the American Revolution… he had his sleeves rolled up and wore black gloves.  
"Bonjour Écosse."  
„Wee prince!", Alasdair's face brightened up and his attention got drawn from his ‚Students'. "A'm sorry ah hud tae lea sae earlie. That glaikit Sassenach juist wouldn't lea me be."  
"Haha, I bet so…"

Silence fell between the two lowers. It was like there was a question in the room that no one dared to speak out. … France had to participate the training. Both knew that Francis wouldn't want to. "Euh… just out of curiosity… when you are the trainer, do you train yourself as well?"  
"Bit o' coorse. Ah wull dae that whin a'm certain that th' ithers ur daein' thair chores. Up 'til noo ah wis waiting fur mah prodigy.", Alasdair smirked towards Francis.  
"… I am no prodigy.", Francis paled and cursed England who had brought them here. He was sure that with Scotland as his trainer again he would get no chance of sneaking away. "But you cannot say that this would not bring up old memories. The whole day has been like this…."  
"Ah see. Weel, we huv tae dae th' training in uniforms as we wull huv tae git used tae shift in thaim again. We wantae be prepared, aye?"  
"Was that your idea?"  
"A wee bit… Noo gang ahead. Training. Ah don't waant thae pie-eater legs in mah kip again.", he gave the flustered Frenchman a light slap on the butt.

Walking over the field to the start of the parcour, Francis was rambling against the older nation, his voice growing louder as he moved away from the redhead. He didn't know that Alasdair could hear him well and was grinning from one ear to another.

The blonde Frenchman just started running through the parcour and doing his best. Initially he was just looking at what level he was now… Soon he found out that others were faster and more elegantly than him. They swung over the walls like nothing while Francis lacked esprit.  
"I'm sorry, Papa, but I am not allowed to help you.", said a breathless Canada in full fur coat while he got over the wall with no problem.  
"Ehh… first time I see my precious son and then he simply goes away… We'll talk about that, Matthieu!"

At noon, there was a short lunch break. Everyone sat together in the Inn and ate their food and rested. The next 'break' was the one that went from evening to morning.  
The training went like this a few weeks. Then the training group changed from the Inn to a small hut in the middle of the Highlands. Everyone had to sleep in the same chamber. It was basically only one room they had. Some of the nations were strongly disagreeing; others were welcoming it as they just saw a large sleepover in it. The main group was made up from the Common Wealth of England's colonies which were still pretty young and therefore giggling through the night, finding it tremendously funny to be together in the dark.

"Why are we doing this?", Francis asked, being annoyed that he got so little time with Alasdair alone. "Is this one of England's hideous ideas again?"  
"Ah fear sae.", Alasdair said, looking in the direction where his brother was standing and having a little speech with his colonies. The colonies were in their beds already, paying more or less attention to what their 'father' or 'big brother' said. " At least we kin kip claise by."  
"I guess so.", France softly said and lowered his head onto his arms that hugged his pillow. Like Alasdair he was lying on his stomach and watched the others. There was no doubt. They would see the others even after the war. It was a sad assurance, thinking of how their own people would feed the canons.  
"I wonder how this war will go.", Francis whispered.  
„ Don't worry aboot that yit. Ye see, we huv mony mukkers, mony Alliance partners. …Germany won't invade ye as muckle.", Alasdairs hand touched a French elbow as to reassure his lover.

Australia had unpacked a radio from his suitcase. Though there was no electricity anywhere he had large batteries installed and made it running somehow. There was nice music by Marlene Dietrich and some of the men were dancing to it.  
As the song ended, there was a newsflash. It was the BBC channel on the radio.  
"…that the Germans are standing before Paris…"  
Everyone stared at Francis. The Frenchman himself had never noticed that the Germans had ever crossed the border. That news had to be a hoax!

The real reason why France had not felt anything was lying somewhere different. But there was no lie that the Germans were close to taking power over France.  
"… I … I have to go back home. Being finished with my training or not, my people need me.", Francis announced. It was June 10th in 1940.

In the next morning, Alasdair insisted on going to France along with Francis. The redhead brought the smaller man to the airport.  
"Non. You stay here and train the others until the end. …It's better this way. You will be my reinforcement. You will soon follow, but not now.", the blonde looked serious.  
Alasdair didn't want Francis to go alone and hesitated.  
"…Alasdair. I am a nation. I'm a big boy now, so I can… handle myself. At least for a few days until you arrive.", convinced the younger nation. He knew he had basically lost the last two wars with Germany, the one that marked the First World War, and the one at 1870.  
The lovers parted with a kiss.


	67. Chapter 66

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Upon entering Paris, the first thing Francis noticed was a depressed mood. Also, he could no longer 'see' what was going on in his land. Every nation could sense the emotions of their people to some level, but here he felt like he was blind. Something was terribly wrong.  
"Alors… perhaps only a trick to me.", the Frenchman shrugged and made his way to his former home in the Montmartre district. He enjoyed hearing French and to see that the French people were still lively. They were Parisian after all. The most spirited and busy French people possibly.

Thinking of it, France had rather been a child of the city. Sure, he liked the countryside but he liked being with the latest news, latest fashion and some decent music. Things you would hardly find in the isolated countryside…whereas Alasdair liked to be in the back of it. He liked to be lonely. How came that they loved each other so much when they were so different?  
Francis mind snapped out of thought as he heard a little girl crying, and not so much later saw her standing, weeping sadly. It nearly broke his heart to see a tiny blonde girl like this crying her little eyes out.  
"Ma petite, what happened ? Where are your parents?", Francis asked as he kneeled beside the child.  
"I … I don't know. …They were suddenly gone.", she continued crying.  
"Ooh, stop crying. Please, there is no reason… let me help you. We'll just go to a police office and they could possibly help us finding your parents, your home."  
"But won't I go to jail then?"  
"Nooon~… petite sotte. They are helping us because we are rightful. We did nothing wrong, okay?"

The girl looked around. Francis found that the longer he looked at the girl, the more familiar she appeared.  
Then, out of nowhere, several uniformed guys appeared around Francis and captured him. "What? What do you want?!"  
„You're ours now… France!", with long barreled guns they held him into place.  
The girl walked around the group and smiled mischievously.  
"I'm so sooorry~ Monsieur. But I take your place now."  
Francis stared at her in disbelief.

"May I introduce myself? I am France. Or moreover Vichy-France. While you were gone to your beloved Scotland, alot of things happened. I was born and a movement against the Republique has begun to stir. We will take over now, creating a new world. Our first step was inviting the Germans to come here. I hope they can make it… We will deliver you to them as a welcome gift. We will then form an Alliance with them."  
Francis was still paralyzed by disbelief. Could he really be this long gone? Got things so much out of hands? "…You.. you cannot do that. This is not what we fought for during the Revolution! We French need no help of the Germans. They will kill us!"  
"And the British not? You just came from that land, didn't you? There is an enemy ship longer than a thousand years and still you have an alliance with them.", the girl cried. "… You… you are a shame for the people of this country. You best would have never existed."  
And with this, the traitors abducted France and tossed him into the load room of a smaller truck.

On June the 14th of 1940, Paris was in German hands. President Albert Lebrun gave the power over to Marshall Pétain, the 'hero' of Verdun, to take care of the forming of the government and the peace treaties. Less did he know that Pétain was a fellow fascist and therefore best friends with Adolf Hitler who would welcome the rule of the Germans with open arms. The peace treaty was dictated by the Germans and therefore an official defeat on the side of the French. In the end, the nation was split in half. The north was member of the Axis Powers while the south was held by the Résistance, an ally to the Allied Forces.

"Whit dae ye mean, ye lost track?!", Scotland shouted at his little brother and almost broke the mahogany table into half by slamming his fists onto the table.  
"…I'm really sorry about that, okay? My men try their best to find Francis.", Arthur nervously replied. He could not ignore the brute force that was in his older brother.  
"Ye better fin' him soon. It wid be best… if America wid be back oan th' plan. Back in th' lest war we won wi' na kinch whin thay entirt."  
Arthur made a mad face. He didn't really want America here. Actually yes, he wanted him to be here. But things were always complicated. Things in him were playing crazy…His emotions would overflow and he'd be vulnerable. "We'll try a little further. Sooner or later, America will join anyway. …Don't worry about France. He'll be fine. He has been through worse."  
"Ye juist don't wantae hulp him, dae ye?", Alasdair growled.  
"Alasdair! … I am just as worried as you are. … I … I used to love France too. And I was jealous. … There, it's out. Are you happy now? So I also… put all my effort into his safety."  
Rather unhappy, the grumpy redhead stepped back from the table of his brother, casting a glare at him.

Around the same time, Francis recognized that the truck was driving somewhere. The owners or his abductors… or both – didn't care if he was tossed around in the storage room of it through the uneven roads.  
He wondered where they were bringing him. On the other way he was very angry and annoyed over himself.  
"How could I have been so stupid? I fell for such an easy trick…", he whispered to himself in French. "It's war and I should have known better than this."

Not so much later, Italy entered the war in Northern Africa, Egypt. At that time, Egypt was more or less colony of Great Britain due to colony rule from before the First World War. Italy wanted to claim Egypt as it was rich on gold and culture.  
The South-European nation made them believe that the Italians were the actual lords of Northern Africa. Most definitely founded was this state with the Ancient city of Leptis Magna, the most powerful city that was in the North of Africa. It had once belonged to the Roman Empire and therefore was now Italian property.

About one year later, Germany attacked the Soviet Union and pulled the giant enemy into a war of destruction. Hitler wanted to gain more space for Germans to live in the East and these states – Poland, Lithuania, Belarus, Ukraine and Russia – were in the way.  
In December of the same year, America joined the war forced by Japan who had attacked him and by Germany who wrote a declaration of war to him.

"Good morning, guys!", America cheerfully announced as a conference of the remaining Allied Forces had started. "Today we shall gather our plans on how to beat the Axis Powers. I will be the hero and you will be my sidekicks! That's four of you…. Huh, where's the fourth? France? Is he late today?"  
China, Russia and England looked more or less confused at the Westerner.  
"…France has been captured last year, aru.", China explained.  
„What?!"  
„He has simply capitulated.", Russia added.  
„… Unlike the CNN, our news are always up to date.", England ended and drank his tea.  
"B-but this is terrible. This makes it more difficult being the hero.", Alfred had become quieter on the last words. "…Then give me an actual map. Let's take a look!"

A map was rolled across the conference table. It basically showed Europe and the places in which the Axis Powers were active were marked in a red colour.  
"I see… But even then, they must have weak spots.", America pointed out, studying the map. This was possibly the first time he even saw a different map else than the one of his home.  
"Well, I have to take care of Italy in Egypt first. I cannot ignore this. …But it won't be a lot of trouble. The Italy brothers are really weak.", England said with a smile. "Besides, one of my siblings can also take over here. Scotland is taking care of the French armies on France's place."  
"He speaks French?"  
"Fluently. …I'm surprised myself. …Anyway, I'll go and clear up the North of Africa. See you soon.", England explained and left the room.

In June of 1941, Britain regained control of Egypt and kicked out the Italy brothers for good, as well as gaining control of the former Italian East Africa.

France had now been in German prison for one good year.  
In the beginning they had simply let him alone with himself in a small cell, as if to rot for himself. The small window allowed the Frenchman a view into the often grey sky.  
Despite disliking taken his freedom he was still glad that his keepers didn't do anything to him.  
As he grew bored he'd often recall memories from his life with Scotland, sometimes smiled to that or ,more seldom, cried.

In the neighbour cell he heard some months after his capture the voice of a young Frenchman. It had been the one that had asked France one time…

- - - -  
(change for France's POV)

"Y-you…! Exactly what are you!?" the young Soldier demanded to know.  
"When my grandpa was younger he took a picture with you! I saw it myself! But the you in the picture and the you now aren't different at all! It's been 50 years yet you still look the same! Isn't that strange?! …U-unless that picture was of your grandfather, or…",

I grab him by the shoulder to calm him down. God, it must be unnerving to be such a hot headed person.  
"I see! Well then, tell your grandpa I'm sending my best wishes!"  
"Eh? Wait, no…I didn't mean it like that, you were…"  
"If you'd like to put it into words, It'd be like a ship!", I was in a good mood back then so I more or less dance around him. "The government is the mast, the citizens are the wind and they are swimming on the sea of time – or so it was said. If the mast is standing straight and a good wind is blowing, the ship goes forward. …but well of course there's also the possibility of the ship suddenly getting stranded! Something like that, I suppose?"

"That's not an answer! Why are you-?"  
"As long as there is someone who can fix the ship, you can keep using it forever, right?", I say and walk away. He does not seem to follow me. Some things just go beyond the mind of humans. Or it is simply because he is a young soldier. But it's right…When everything goes good, a nation actually ages faster. The larger the land mass we have power over, the older are. I wonder how old Russia will grow with this much of landmass. Or if it is about the number of people a nation has power over? Then it would certainly be china. A lot of people live in China. …Before the training in Scotland recently I have never seen China before. He looks like a young woman. …I certainly would have liked to have talked more with him back then when I had the chance to. China was the place all the precious silk came from. I feel the need to thank him for these gifts.

- - - -

France had lost track of time as his prison cell door opened. He nearly jumped at the sound and looked into the direction.  
"Guten Morgen, Franzmann. (Good morning, Frenchie)", Prussia began with a cocky smile. „Hast du gut geschlafen? Du siehst blass aus. (Have you slept well? You look pale.)"

„Hat es dir die Sprache verschlagen? Sprich mit mir. Ich weiß, dass du die deutsche Sprache beherrschst! (Cat got your tongue? Speak with me. I know you know the German language.)"  
„…I'd rather not.", France made a concerned look. Had Gilbert always been like this?

Before Francis could recall his memories of Prussia, the Albino punched the blonde firmly into his face. "Rede deutsch, du französische Schlampe! (Speak German, you French bitch!)"  
„Why should-", once again, Francis was silenced with a painful smack over his face. The pain was stinging and made his eyes teary. Before he could say anything further, Prussia hit him once again and sent him to the floor.  
"Hör zu, Franzose, entweder du sprichst jetzt astreines Hochdeutsch mit mir, oder ich garantiere für Nichts mehr. Und solange du unter Deutschen bist, bleibt das auch so. Hast du mich verstanden? (Listen up, Frenchie, You speak fine German now with me, or I won't guarantee for anything anymore. As long as you are with Germans it will stay like this. Did you get that?)"  
Francis slowly nodded, holding his bleeding nose.


	68. Chapter 67

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

In the next conference the Allied forces held, America and England decided to focus their forces onto Germany instead of Italy and Japan.  
However, on the same time, America built ships in record time for the pacific fleet, that could inflict great losses on the Japanese. Japan had, up until then, captured large pieces of Southeast Asia, such as Hong Kong, British-Malaysia, Philippines, parts of Burma, Netherlands-India and part of New Guinea. Thailand was much likely also under Japan's law and forced to give a declaration of war towards the USA.

In Europe around the same time, Russia and the Soviet Union managed to fend off the Wehrmacht, the German troops, for their first time. In the following winter they managed to do so once again, close by Stalingrad.

In 1942, Anglo-American Troops landed in Northern Africa to confront Germany and Italy – Italy seemed to have not given up on Northern Africa yet.  
The battles didn't last long. In the same season, the Axis surrendered in Tunesia.

In June of the same year, America fought Japan bitterly. Japan had lost 4 of 6 aircraft carriers and was therefore inferior to the United States. Still, America wouldn't stop proceeding towards the Japanese islands.

Scotland in the meantime was working closer with the Résistance than with the actual French troops. He worked himself closer into the enemies' den, he wanted to find Francis and help him to escape. The last time the redhead had asked his brother for help he had just received the answer that England himself had been imprisoned by the Italy brothers… and had managed to escape on his own without any problems really. France should have known how to escape if he really had wanted, so Francis was concerned a traitor by UK's official opinion.  
Alasdair couldn't believe that they gave up on such an important person…

Francis himself never felt himself being an 'important nation' despite being so large and powerful. He had always been down to earth. But in this situation he even felt like shit. Forced to speak German had just been the beginning. Now they restrained him from food and water for longer and longer periods of time and Francis didn't know if they forgot him or just punish him for existing. But this way or another he knew he wouldn't die. Starvation was no reason for a nation to die. A nation would only lose a lot of weight. After a few months, Francis already looked halfway like a Skeleton again, like in the times of the famine before the French Revolution and during the Napoleonic wars in Russia.

A change came in the summer of 1942, when they let him work in the garden. He was strictly observed and not allowed to take some of the food, but sentenced to care well for it. In case anything withered or rotted unwillingly, he was beaten or otherwise punished.

In the summer of 1943, the Allied Forces landed on the shore of Sicily. This was but only a small part of a greater plan to get a hold of the Axis Powers in Europe. After some battles on the Italian side, Italy stepped over to the side of the Allies.  
The Allies could not trust the new partners yet, but were glad for a relieve.

The Soviet Union in the meantime could force Germany back to its borders. Prussia got smaller and almost wiped from the map.  
This was a thing, the Albino got very mad about.  
"This can't be true, it can't be…", he stopped as he saw Francis working in the garden. (announcement of the writer: of course they speak german, but I rather refrain from writing things multiple times).

"What the hell are you doing here? Slacking off? I knew it, you lazy goddamn Francy pants!", without really having a reason, Gilbert let off his frustration on Francis, beating him down to the ground. The Frenchman had tried to block the blasts but failed terribly. His power had been shrinking while he starved all the time.

"Hah! Serves you right, you dirty Frenchman!", Prussia triumphantly said and placed his boot on top of Francis' head, slowly pressing it into the soil. The watch guard of Francis just laughed and cheered at this sight. But Gilbert didn't really care. He watched for a glimpse of anger in the blonde's eyes. There was nothing. "…We shall have further fun in the night, Frenchie."

It was the middle of the night, when large amounts of ships and airplanes landed silently on the beach of the Normandy in the North of France. It was summer, so it was not as cold in the waves as the Soldiers made their way out of the water of the English Channel. On front of the Soldiers walked the representatives of their nations: America, Great Britain (England, Wales and Scotland), Poland, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Norway and Greece. The troops would meet up with the people of Belgium, Netherlands and Luxembourg who held themselves prepared close to their areas. They had to move with care as not to wake the 'German dogs'.

"Are you ready?", America whispered.  
"Yes, yes, don't be so noisy!", England hissed as he moved next to America behind one of the larger rocks on the beach.  
"This part of France is not so pretty, hihihi.", Australia dared to say, but earned an angry look from his uncle Scotland. Scotland had cursed a lot on his little brother England but had been ordered to participate on his mission, "Operation Neptune" – which would soon go over into "Operation Overlord". Scotland was given the command over the Royal Scots, the Garde Écossaise and the French Résistance groups. It was quite a handful, but he said he could manage them with his long life experience.

The first group moved over to the next rock as they knew they were safe to move.  
The second group made it out of the water.  
"Are we really in France now? It looks like England from here…", New Zealand said, trying to get a good look through the night.  
"You better not let him hear that.", Wales chuckled softly, waiting for the third and fourth person to come.  
"This beach is, like totally, hideous…", said a Poland who had managed to come now that the Soviet Union was wiping the floor with Eastern Germany soldiers. Poland was now rather free.  
"…We can continue.", Norway said. He looked rather out of place without his usual other Nordic companions, but he had joined the Allied Forces to get rid of Germany who had also attacked Denmark and Sweden and possibly wouldn't have stopped before Finland and Iceland.

The last group was Canada with Greece who had also to cover the back of the others. Although it was dangerous, Matthew Williams handled the challenge like he had never done anything else and was even taking care of his 'a little slow but cat loving' uncle Herakles Karpusi.

As soon as the several troops were into place, the actual accessing began. The soldiers killed silently at the beginning but then gained loudly control over the German fortresses around in the Normandy. By the break of dawn, a lot of dead bodies were lying around, but the French region was Allied Forces territory for sure.

Around the same time, as the Allied forces captured the Normandy, great ships and airplanes secured the supply and the back-up for the troops on the ground.

"Good job, men! We successfully gained control over the North of France today. I am proud of you!", America started, as the others had gathered in the control room of the main fortress. On the wall were several maps. "Our next goals now are to get the larger cities of France: Paris… and these others which names I can't even pronounce. This is embarrassing. Matthew!"  
„No problem, I help you…", Canada sighed.  
America pointed to the cities and Canada tried to pronounce them rightly. But for one, no one understood Canada, for he was a rather silent speaking person and two, he was using Creole French which was not quite the same as the French he had learnt as a child.

"This is nothing… a'richt, stoap mah wee jimmy. …The neist cities we ur aff tae tak' ower ur 'Paris, Caen, Bayeux, Saint-Lô 'n Cherbourg'.", Alasdair was also hard to understand due to his Scottish accent. But the names of the cities were in flawless French. Francis would have been very proud of him.  
"…Y-yeah, these cities. Paris should go into our hands first. Our first aim will be to confuse the Germans. They won't give up on Paris that easy. The plan is that some of us will go to remain here anywhere – but will also send radio signals. There is a hut on the Atlantic coast where the Germans are checking for messages from us. We usually are too careful for to send them this way. But now you will send signal that we will attack, where we will not be. You will puzzle the messages no different than from usual or else they will think it's a hoax. Understood? Who is signing up for to stay here?"

Greece raised his arm, followed by Norway and Wales.  
As they stayed behind to get into the radio wave generating and receiving, the rest of the (still large) group went over to enlarge the area in the Normandy, until the messaging was complete.  
The Germans were caught unaware as they thought, the Allied Forces were trying to get into the Pas-de-Calais, which was completely different direction than Caen in which they actually started to fight in their aim to gain control over this point of interest.

"Okay, for this mission we need the most strong nations for a squad team.", America ordered. "This will be of course me. I need only two sidekicks."  
"…Only.", England rolled his eyes. Despite him liking America still alot, he didn't like how he saw underlings in the rest of the world instead of partners with equal rights and respect.  
"Okay, England will come with me. Who else? Scotland?"  
„Nae. Pick someone else."  
„I will do it.", Canada said.  
Poland joined them also, but rather securing the rear of the three.

They headed for Caen in the morning of the 9th of June. It took them several weeks to gain control over the city through which heavy artillery had done a lot of damage to the often medieval houses.  
After Caen was Allied Forces-Territory, America decided to head further west towards the Bretagne. He broke through the German defence and proceeded without any problems. After a few weeks, the Bretagne was freed by American forces only.  
Canada and England in the meantime had gone further south. Scotland had joined them in the pocket of Falaise.

The city of Falaise was besieged by roughly 150 000 Germans. When the Allied forces arrived there, they were about 350 000 men. No doubt that the Germans would have to leave the city. Adolf Hitler had given the order to not retreat under any circumstances, but the Allied Forces were also superior in their tactics. Great portions of the Germans were killed during the siege and even more were captured. The losses on the English-speaking allies were rather small.

After the battle of Falaise, the way was finally free to grab Paris.  
In the capital itself it already had come to a strike of all French. The Résistance was now working without really covering up. They were all practically smashing into the Germans faces that they were no longer wanted.  
Those that had fled from the pocket of Falaise had flown towards the Seine, so the Seine was soon captured before the Allies even got to Paris. However, the way from there was not very long.

Though the order was not to give Paris to the Allied Forces and to fight to the last man, the commander of the German troops in Paris gave only little resistance and gave the capital of France nearly unharmed and in one piece over on the 25th of August. On the same day, the tricolour of France was hoisted again on the Eiffel tower and not much later on the Arc the Triomphe.  
The Allied forces paraded in the city they had won without much battle. The Parisians were beaming from happiness that the dark times under the Germans was over now.

Not much later, the city was bombarded again, this time from the sky. The German flight corps wouldn't give up on the city. The morning of the 27th august revealed 593 buildings destroyed or damaged, 213 people killed and 914 wounded.

The American and the British armies tried their best to defend the city on land and on air.  
Eisenhower, the "supercommander" of all Allied forces and Bradley, the commander of the American troops (And Alfred F. Jones' direct boss) were arriving in Paris on that following day to meet the provisory new president of France, Charles de Gaulle.  
Churchill, the prime minister of Great Britain could not make it near Paris due to lack of transport vehicles, so he said.


	69. Chapter 68

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The Allied Forces (America, England, Scotland, Canada, etc.) had come very far in the last two months. They had secured the Normandy and also the Bretagne. They had gained Paris, the heart of France.  
The next goal was to come from the south. More troops were waiting to help freeing France and to put Germany back to his place behind the border.

Initially, the Operation was labelled 'Anvil' as to be the counterpart of the Operation 'Hammer' in the north which then became 'Overlord' due to delays. Now the name was Dragoon. However, the objective was the same.  
England had initially voted against this operation. He had wanted to focus now on a different area where the Nazis were fighting. He only gave in after America, Canada and Scotland had talked for hours with him.

The bomber airplanes of the Allied forces began with flying over the Côte d'Azur and bombing the minefields and batteries of the occupying forces that were both German and Italian. It was about 12.500 tons of bombs that were released under the French sky.

The French Résistance also helped in major parts. Whenever the BBC would send code words over their radio, the Résistance knew that the invasion would go somewhere in the next 24 hours and then would destroy bridges, cut phone and electricity lines, attack factories or German bases.

At the end of July, the French and American corps in Corsica were collected to invade the South of France. Air and naval forces aided the actual operation. The landing should go much like the one in the North on the D-day.  
American troops made the front attackers, covered by some French tanks and aircrafts.  
All in all, the operation went smoothly as the Germans had send their troops towards the north ever since the Normandy was in the hands of the Allied forces. Even when the Franco-American forces proceeded towards the outback, there was only feeble defence. The German soldiers their met were either sick or too tired to fight.  
In Dramont and Agay it came to heavy battles between the Germans and the American. Through the help of the French troops which made roads and streets impassable, the Germans failed to reinforce their troops.

Two weeks after the landing on the Côte d'Azur, the Provence was already successfully taken.  
It was just after the operation in which Falaise had been taken, that the Germans received the order to clear the South of France by e.g. destroying harbours on both the Atlantic coast and the one of the Mediterranean Sea, for when they could not be held any longer.  
French Résistance Troops managed to fix Toulon on the 23rd of August and Marseille on the 29th without any further destruction.  
American front troops managed to reach Grenoble also on the 23rd of August – 83 days earlier than planned.

By the end of August it came to a larger battle at Montélìmar in the Rhône valley, after the Allied Front troops had block out a retraction path through the valley on a side river of the Rhône.  
Further, Nice and Lyon became free after battles between German and Résistance troops.  
The Germans were soon chased towards the north through the Rhône valley.

In the beginning of September, the French troops rejoined the Americans in the west of Dijon, also 77 days earlier than planned. At the same time, the right wing of the US-Army had reached the Belfort gap at Mongbéliard.

Days passed by and by October, the Allied Forces had reached Aachen, at the border to the actual German Empire.  
The cause was nearly lost now, the battles in vain for the Germans. Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt had now retreated up to Berlin to protect their leader, their Fuhrer. Roderich Edelstein, personification of Austria, had remained in his land and didn't feel like he had anything to do with this, despite them being one nation.  
Hundred thousands of men were killed during these battles on German ground now – on both sides, and not really for anything. Hitler threatened them with Soviet horror deeds on the 16th of April, to fight on mercilessly.

By the 22nd of April, the Allied Forces had surrounded Berlin and were showering the city with bullets and fire. Hitler, and a lot of the citizens were safe in bunkers. But not all of them. Some people got killed, hurt and of course the houses were destroyed. It was practically an Inferno.

On the 25th, the surrounding of Berlin was perfect and the Americans were partying along with the Russians over the victory they believed to have in their pockets.

On the 27th, Hitler planned everything before he would finally commit suicide. He won't give his enemies the pleasure of getting him alive and punish him.  
Himmler, one of his former friends and the commander of the feared SS troops and boss to the German police, had tried to make a peace treaty with the Allied forces… They were under unacceptable conditions, actually, but Hitler was angry that there even had been an attempt for peace. Hitler let the contact man murdered.

On midnight he married his love, Eva Braun. He had no priest or something, since he had forbidden the catholic or protestant or any other church in Germany, and therefore spoke the ritual himself.  
After that, he dictated his secretary his last will in which he secured the future of Germany, wanting to form it after his will still.

On the evening of the 29th of April he heard that Mussolini, the Italian fascist had been killed and there were rumours that they were ravishing the corpse.  
In the afternoon of the following day, he killed his wife and himself. Their corpses were burnt by his remaining underlings.

So, while German Soldiers still fought for their Fuhrer, the leader himself had cowardly sought shelter in the death.

For the two remaining German Nations, Ludwig and Gilbert, a strange thing happened. When they had turned into cruel people during Hitler's reign, they were now snapping out of something that had seemed like a hypnotic state.  
"…Bruder, what are we doing here? What happened?"  
"I don't know. It… it looks like war. I don't remember anything.", Ludwigs blue eyes looked in disbelief outside the torn window. "Verdammt. …Now, if I remember anything or not, we should get out of here!"

On May the 8th came the unconditional capitulation on the side of the Germans. It ended the second world war in Europe in which approximately between 36 and 52 million people had died, and many millions more had been wounded, some of them wounded forever.  
More terrifying was what the Allied forces found when they got a closer look at the German territory. Here and there they found Ghettos in which only Jews lived, and concentration camps in which only Jews worked. Most of them looked like Skeletons, the limbs those that didn't live anymore looked like thin firewood.

It was also then when Francis had finally been found by Alasdair. He had keeping searching everywhere and had finally found him in the Beilschmidt mansion somewhere in the east of Berlin. The mansion was surrounded by a wood, making it all pretty and peaceful. The house also had a neat garden. The Scotsman however didn't care all that much.  
The Beilschmidt brothers were not at home, they were fleeing from the Allied forces as soon as they had reviewed what had happened the past 4 - 5 years.

The quietness of the house made Alasdair uneasy. He found the door open, which made him think that there was someone he didn't expect, or didn't want. Yet, proceeding further into the house didn't reveal someone who was lurking, waiting to attack him. Armed, the Scotsman went around, checked every room.  
Everything looked normal, had an everyday-atmosphere.  
Then he found the cellar. The cellar hardly had any lighting and really looked creepy. Even the hard man from the north felt chills going up and down his spine.

He took a deep breath and used his torchlight for which he was glad to exist.  
There were several rooms down the cellar. Some of them normal storage rooms, one room in which strange looking things were placed like a medieval looking chair, spiked items, knives. Blood was there, too. The redhead noticed that his hand began to tremble as visions of France being tortured here stroke him, mixed with memories of the death of William Wallace. He cursed himself for being such a wimp. He shook his head and went on.

There was a locked door and he felt like he found what he had been looking for. Internally he braced himself for anything he'd find in there. He didn't even think of knocking on there or shouting as if to get response from the person inside.  
He shot at the lock and the door gave way.  
With a creepy squeak the door went open, the torchlight revealed little of what was inside.

It was a naked floor, a makeshift bed on one wall, a sink on another wall. In the middle of there was lying a naked body. It was France.  
And he didn't look good. Francis was very thin, basically just skin on bones. There were scars everywhere. His leg looked unnaturally twisted, his left hand looked crushed and the largest cut on him went from his hip up to his chest, ended just beside his nipple. The cut was still open and bleeding a little, thus also revealing sight on the weakly but steadily beating heart.  
There was some kind of beauty to it that Alasdair didn't dare to move.  
His lover did look very bad, but he was still alive. It was like he was watching him dangling down from a single thin thread, just about ready to snap and let the body fall into endless darkness.

The redhead forced himself to snap out of it. He went over to Francis, let the blanket from the bed fall over his naked body and picked him up to carry him up and outside of this horrible house.  
Outside before the house he called the lazaretto to have them prepared for Francis intensive surgery…

The German Empire was parted into four sections. The Eastern part was put partly under Polish, partly under Russian law; the remaining western parts were split up between America, Great Britain and France. This was a necessity as to watch over the Germans. About twelve million Germans were chased out of the territory that was now Polish and Russian again.  
Among the nations, the split was almost similar. Prussia, or rather Gilbert as Prussia no longer existed, was given to Russia while Germany was given to care by America or England – France was not really capable yet to do it.

The actual Second World War but ended, when Japan capitulated after being hit by two atomic bombs, dropped by the Americans on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. For millions of years perhaps, those cities would not be habitable.  
The Axis Powers however had all capitulated and were now going through trials everywhere in the world.

As for Russia and the Soviet Union, they rised in the rank of the world and became a Super power just like America was.  
This caused a cold tension between the two powers that both had the right to use Atomic weapons. They threatened each other to use them if the other would not listen.  
A cold war began and the world was split in two.


	70. Chapter 69

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

Francis slowly opened his dreamy blue eyes. The first sensation he really felt was the pressure in his lower abdomen. He needed to use the toilet.  
The next thing he noticed was the surroundings. Everything was clean, nice and quiet. Just a small tune of music, that came from the door that was a little open in one corner of the room. The room that smelled like Alasdair.  
The redhead had to be near somewhere. Somewhere close by. This was a nice feeling for once. No pain, no fear was shaking his form anymore.

Eventually he got up and made his way out of this secure room. There was no use for it, he needed to find a bathroom or something alike.  
The blonde had never been in a home like this. It had to be new, but the bathroom to find was no problem at all. After relieving himself and figuring that he wore some kind of diapers, which he had dumped into the sink for now, he washed his hands and took a first glimpse of himself in the mirror.  
What he saw made him flinch in shock and wanting to smash the mirror into a million pieces. It also explained why his head had felt so light, so strangely different from usual. His hair was cut to an unacceptable length. His hair was now merely 1-2 cm's long (0,4 – 0,8 inches). No, the man in the mirror wasn't him! Couldn't be him! It wasn't even the scars in his face or beneath his clothes that would make him feel uneasy. Okay, maybe in his face… would be of concern. But his long hair would have covered them up until completely healed.  
Now he really was naked.  
Francis bit his lower lip and forced his look away from the mirror.

Knocks awoke him from his frozen state. Alasdair!  
"Wee prince, Urr ye in thare? whin ye are… then please open th' door. … don't tell me ye passed oot. ", the last words were muffled.  
"…N-non, I'm not.", Francis heard himself saying in a shakily voice. "I'm fine…"  
„Then open th' door."  
„…I-i can't."  
„How come? is he door blocked?"  
„That's not it."

„You must not come inside!", from the corner of his eye, he saw the bathroom cabinet in which the towels were. Quickly he pulled out two of them: one for his head to cover the 'scar' of his hair, the second for to make a makeshift Kilt. He hadn't anything else to wear and walking half naked was kind of awkward. This was perfect. He had wondered when Alasdair would force him into a Kilt anyway.

Then the door clicked and Alasdair could come inside. He was a little (or a lot) confused about Francis' behaviour whereas he was happy overall that the Frenchman had come back to life.  
"…Francis? … Fra… hahaha, Whit's this? ye keek funnae.", Alasdair said and tugged a little on the 'towel-wig'.  
"Stobbit!", Francis said and evaded the touch of the older man. "I… my.. my hair… I don't want you to see me like this."  
„ Wha dae ye think haes cared aboot ye th' bygane weeks? ah huv seen ye gey often lik' this. Forby, a'm yer guidman. A'm waantin' tae see a' o' ye.", the redhead didn't make any remark about the ‚towel-kilt'.  
"B-but..!", with a firm tug, the towel no longer covered the short blonde hair. Francis cried.  
"…It's nae a ill thing. Stoap greetin'. I'll git ye a proper cloth fur yer heid if yer feelin' sae ill aboot it, bit this is silly.", Alasdair hugged his lover tightly.  
"Why am I like this in the first place? Did something happen to my hair while I was passed out? Did you find me like this?"  
"Na, Ah… uhm… 'twas me wha said yer locks shuid be cut. Th' surgeons 'n' doctors asked me if ah wis braw wi' yer locks bein' lifted lik' this. Thay wanted tae be sure if thare wis mair wounds. 'n' ah gave thaim allowed. I'd ower huv a shorthaired guidwife than yin that hud stoatin damage oan th' skull. Yer locks wull graw back fleet wance ye regained yer power. I'm sure... Noo, come wi' me. Ah wull mak' ye some partan bree (crayfish soup, traditional Scottish). Ye mist be hungert.

Francis whimpered still.  
" Pure, stoap sniffling. Ah lik' yer freish hairstyle. . Forby ah huv short locks an' a' 'n' amurnay greetin'. "  
"Your hair is longer than mine now."  
"Ye pure sound lik' a bawherr wean, haha. … Mah wee prince is back."  
Now Francis really couldn't stop crying.  
"Whit now?! whit kin ah dae tae mak' ye stoap greetin'? ", the redhead didn't know what to do anymore.  
The Frenchman but shook his head… he was slightly irritated because he missed the feeling of his long silky locks framing his head. "…it's not… You called me 'wee prince' again. I haven't heard that… in millions of years."  
„…Mah wee prince~", Alasdair hummed and laid an arm around Francis' shoulders.

"Ye can't huv proper hough yit, sae partan bree wull huv tae dae. Ah bet thay starved ye.", Alba said with a frown of concern on his face.  
"…Je sais. (I know.) Could I help you in making the soup?"  
"Nae, Ah wull be able tae dae this fur ye. Ta aye."  
This was also an uncommon sight and also only for when Francis were sick… well at some point he was sick now. He felt himself drawn back to where he had lay beneath large covers, sweating out his sickness and Alasdair, a very young Alasdair, had helped him to some soup… Wasn't it the same soup now?  
"This partan bree is made fur whin yer feelin' wabbit 'n' peely-wally. It wull mak' ye gey pure tough.", said the Alasdair of his memories.  
"…I love you, Alasdair.", Francis confirmed.

The redhead stopped in his tracks and smiled. „… Ah loue ye tae, wee prince.", then he continued doing his magic in the kitchen.  
"You're possibly the best husband a person could ever have."  
"…Oh, stoap it, ye're makin' me blush!", the Scotsman snickered. " By th' way… crakin' kilt ye git thare."  
"Ahahaha… hah.. Oui, I made it myself. I'm still a fabulous fashion designer, you see?"  
„Hrhr, Aye. … Ah shuid huv given ye a kilt tae wear a lang time ago. Ah juist couldn't decide whither ye git yer ain pattern or ye huv th' identical pattern as ah huv. "  
"Don't your siblings and you share a pattern?"  
" Nae. …Nae, nae pure. Th' colour is different, mak's it a' different. Bit yer fowk, aye? You're mah guidwife. This means yer ‚under mah flag'."  
„…And under your kilt as I see."  
„Aye, thare tae."  
The couple laughed together.

„It seems like we never been separated during the war.", Francis told Alasdair when he got his soup served. In the crayfish soup were a lot of healthy herbs. Toast was served along with this. Hungrily, the Frenchman tasted some of the soup and soon found that it was pretty much edible. Usually he'd refrain from eating something that a Kirkland had made, without really wanting to be discriminating. Now it tasted real good and the blonde didn't miss the effort to cook something properly. "…It's really good, this soup.", he praised his husband.  
„ Yer Fàilte. ", Alasdair smiled, very self-contended. "We huv tae keek under yer bandages efter dinner. …You huv bin 'ere lik' this fur 4 weeks noo, a'maist. Even in yer condition, thare shuid be a chaynge noo. Th' doctors said that wance ye'd wake up, we cuid see. Mh… th' fracture at yer shank 'n' maist o` yer scars seemed tae huv healed an' a'."  
"I see...", Francis replied. He was still depressed about having lost his only 'jewel', the only shiny thing he would wear on his body. His beautiful hair everyone had envied him about. "So it was you who took my hair. … Shall I say 'thank you' or can I be honest and smash your face?"  
Alasdair felt shivers going down his spine, leaving him with a chilly feeling by the look of Francis' cold blue eyes. True, when the Frenchman was mad, no one could say anything.

"…Th' doctors an' a' said that… that twa ribs wur missing. Gaun back intae th' cellar whaur ah fun ye, ah cuid ainlie fin' yin*. …Francis, whit did ye gang thro' thare?", the green eyes now looked sad and very worried at his 'wife'.  
Francis unconsciously touched what was around his belly and a little above and beneath. There was a thick bandage covering him up where the large cut had been that had revealed his insides… he avoided the look. "I… I don't /know/ anymore. It's blanked out…Let's.. let's not talk about that anymore."

"…Sooner or efter ah wull fin' that oot. Juist wondering if it's ower you… or ower thaim. Sae ah conclude it haes bin dane by baith o' th' German brothers. …curse thaim in hell.", Alasdair cursed further in gaelic, which cannot really be brought in here. "Bit ah thought that ye micht say against thaim. Thare is a court against th' war criminals gaun oan 'n' we nations plan tae dae sic a thing oan ourselves tae. It micht hulp nail th' Germans whin ye tell whit thay did tae ye."  
"I won't."  
"How come nae, urr ye mad?"  
"I don't want to talk about it!", France shouted. "… I don't want to remind myself… on this subject…"  
"…A'm sorry. … A'm truly an ill guidman."  
The blonde casted a quick glance at the older one. "Don't say that. Stop trying to get me over this… I just… can't go out, even if I wanted to say something against them. It's enough that you saw me without the hair. But the other Allies? The enemies? They will laugh at me! Especially your brother! I don't want them to have me in memory like this either. … Just give me the time… that the hair is at least this length." – Francis marked his ear as the point for length.  
"…Okay. …Yer richt. Ah mean... Yer locks aye meant a lot tae ye. Ah juist thought it wid be better that ye wid be saved."  
"It's reasonable. I won't argue a lot with you about that…It will not make my hair grow faster. But please understand my point. I don't want to go outside until it has grown at least… the same length you have. And don't cut /your/ hair to alter my opinion."  
"Ah wid ne'er.", Alasdair raised his eyebrows.

Francis yawned, feeling a heavy sleepiness embrace his form.  
"Dae yi'll waant tae gang back tae kip? It mist huv bin exhausting fur ye awready …"  
"…Oui. I don't want to go yet."  
The redhead chuckled. "Ye became sae stubborn, wee prince."  
For now, Francis only wanted to feel love, for a change. A feeling he had missed. "…When it does not bother you… could you come here?"  
Alasdair frowned, but then obeyed.  
The blonde gave him a long hug and started crying during that. "F-francis? Whit ur you…? how come urr ye greetin'? - Again?"  
"I don't know… but I need this. I need you!", Francis sobbed now uncontrolled and held onto the older man, not wanting to let him go.  
"…Ah loue ye, wee prince.", Alasdair gently kissed the blonde's forehead and tried to kiss away some of the tears.

A few moments later, Francis was carried back to the bed by the tall man. The blonde had simply passed out from tiredness. Alasdair didn't mind as the younger one was still very light. 'As light as feather', in his opinion.

The next time Francis woke up, they uncovered the bandages to discover what was lying beyond.  
The large cut had been stitched together, only one rib had been inserted – the second one still missing. The cut itself however was healing well. The rib that had been placed inside was rather an experiment. The doctors had recently discovered some 'ligament'-like material which would waste away without any leftovers. So the bone was held in place with waste-material. The Frenchman could not report any difficulties. No fever, no uneasy feeling… just the half-healed cut with the stitches itched. He wanted to itch himself there, but Scotland would not allow that, smeared some cooling cream onto the puffy skin which made it feel better and then covered his lover up in bandage again.  
"Eventually, we need tae see a doctor again.", Alasdair suggested, checking on the other wounds like he was a professional.  
"Oui…", Francis said thoughtfully. The doctor would possibly care less if the patient used to have long hair. Sometimes he missed his hair but then again he became used to it. He was not as irritated by it. To wear a wig would have been a solution, but too expensive, even for the very fashionable Frenchman.

"…Bit we micht cope wi'oot yin aye. Ah don't ken if ye kin shower wi' thae.", Alasdair tugged on the bandages and smiled at the half-nudity of his small wife.  
"I don't think I can. But hair washing… perhaps. I don't think they need a lot of care. Actually, I don't need to wait really long for them to dry anymore. Hum. … What do you think? Will these scars heal faster than my hair grows back? Really, short hair could come in handy when I rebuild my muscles.", Francis proudly smiled, covering himself in the comfy clothes he wore now.  
"Tae rebuild muscles?"  
"Oui, I lost them, didn't I? I'm just so bony now. … I don't know when I can start with the training again but I want to be a little athletic again."  
"Ah wull train ye, if ye wid lik'.", Alasdair gave Francis a kiss on the forehead.  
"You do so much for me… I think, swimming will do it for me in the first time. I haven't swum in eternities.", the Frenchman thought of the blue shore of the Mediterranean sea under the bright skies of the azure coast.  
"Aye, swimmin` wull be crakin'. Ah wull keek tae th' future tae it."

_  
* I am taking reference to another fanfiction: s/6464957/1/All-in-a-Day-s-Work


	71. Chapter 70

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

A few weeks passed. The wounds healed well and Francis no longer needed bandages. His figure had also improved. He was no longer bony, but still very slim. However, he was far out of the danger zone of his life. His steps became stronger each day and he could stay awake longer.  
The only thing he would never be able to shrug off or open up about was what he had seen or made when he was in German prison. He himself found that the shades of the past were not as scary as before, but he still didn't want to deal with it.

It was then the first time he went swimming again. Swim culture had also largely changed. Other people would also go swimming. Back in the 20's, the swim culture had split into two groups: the nude swimmers that would really wear nothing, and the 'newcomers' that wore almost the same layers of garment as if it was in the middle of winter.

The swim culture now was still a little different. Some wore just very short pants, some wore nothing at all (still nudists)… on the women were bathing suits popular that concealed a good portion of the female body. The bikini had been just invented in the year of 1946 (the year in which this fanfiction plays right now)  
Francis and Alasdair but preferred to wear just as much as a swimmer by the Olympics would wear – short pants.  
And actually, they were enough for a usual male to cover everything without looking either ridiculous or inappropriate. Francis just didn't like the fact that his scars would still show. This effect became stronger once his skin became darker in the sun…

"…I don't think it was a good idea to go here."  
"Whit mak's ye think that?", Alasdair also had scars here and there. They were only faint and he would always have some. He was a warrior still – and called himself proudly the 'bodyguard of France'.  
"My scars are showing…"  
"A' body 'ere haes some. At least th' males. It's juist yin year efter th' end o' th' war. Ye shuid be glad that ye aye huv a' limbs."  
Alasdair's words appeared harsh in the French ears. Should he really be happy? After today's round of swimming, the blonde covered himself in a big towel and rested at their usual place on the beach on his own towel. He was also pretty aware on how the women adored the handsome redhead. They casted longing looks into his direction.

Now that the war had long been over, the females were more present everywhere. The few men that were left didn't have a lot to say anymore. The women sure worked their way upwards, made themselves equal to men.  
To France, feminism didn't mean that much… as long as they left his husband alone. Then he noticed that they didn't wear any wedding rings… of course he still had the one he received on their actual wedding. It was not rusty, but worn out and way too small. Just enough to fit onto a child's hand.  
Things like that left the Frenchman nostalgic.

"What's wrong noo?", the Scotsman asked, full of concern.  
„Nothing. Perhaps I am just tired."  
"…Shall we gang hame?"  
"Non, I just want to sit here. It's not too cold… it's nice here."  
Alasdair managed to smile. "…A'richt. I'm juist tae worried, ah jalouse."  
"Oui, you worry too much.", Francis grinned.  
"Bit back then ah didn't worry enough.", the redhead's face turned back to strictness and he sat next to Francis. "Ye said ye wid be able tae fend aff th' Germans. Tae be able tae be oan yer ain. A 'big boy', eh?"  
"…Do you have to rub that in?", Francis avoided his look, but remained stubborn and pouted.  
"Whit happened back then? did thay catch ye richt whin ye set foot onto yer ain land? Hadn't ye read in th' Speirins that this hideous Pétain wis in charge? "  
"Putain? (French for 'bitch') … he was the ‚hero of Verdun', he had saved me back then. How was I supposed to know he was a Nazi?"  
"France! … Sooner or efter a'm waantin' tae catch up oan that. We aye tellt ilk ither everything. Ye even tellt me whin ye made oot wi' yer ain brother."

Francis tensed up again. Why did this man had to rub in all the mistakes and all the ugliness that there was on France? He had committed adultery, he had lost his cool when Jeanne got killed and became a murderer himself, he had been blown away alot of times by now, he was no good at war anymore… "What do you want with me?", Francis' eyes had taken a cold blue tone now. With the wet hair slicked back like he was now he looked like Germany also – just that his French accent stood out as he was angry. "What do you want? I'm … I am such a 'orrid person! I'm good for nozhing! Why don't you juste break up wizh me and go look for some woman or somezhing? Zhere is enough female nations by now!"  
The blonde grabbed his towel and got up to walk away. He was crying again, he didn't want to see Alasdair… and then again he wished for the redhead to walk after him and stop him.

It was raining when the Frenchman had reached their holiday mansion. Near Marseille, Francis owned a mansion with nice surroundings which they could use for a summer holiday or anything like it. It was the simple privilege of being the republic of France. Rain was rare on the southern coast of France… but when it happened it really came down from the skies.  
The Frenchman was taking a shower in the bathroom and stared against the oddly green coloured tiles. It was a mint green, the colour made him nauseous. Who had ever picked such a colour?  
Showering was a necessity after the salty water of the Mediterranean sea and the sandy air that was there. He turned off the water and stepped outside. Then he checked himself in the mirror. He really wasn't skinny anymore. His features were still sharp but some kind of handsomeness lingered on about them. His hair had grown back a good length now.. but sometimes he found that he looked more like America – just without the glasses. Especially, because he had decided to part his hair differently: Over several hundred years it had been parted in the middle, now it was parted over his right eye.  
The scar on his belly was almost not visible.. just thanks to the southern sun of France it stood out due to it being a lighter shade of the rest of the skin that had tanned. When the tan would fade off, no one would notice, right – so the Republic thought.  
"…Alasdair would be better off without me."

"Whit mak's ye think that…?", came a rather creepy reply.  
Scotland stood – dripping wet – with his towel in the middle of the room. His forest green eyes were grim and dark like he was the fiercest Highland Scot right from the battlefield coming into a French bathroom. Francis shrieked and paled as he clung to the mirror he was standing before.  
"Whit mak's ye think that…?", Alasdair replied as he stepped closer. He dropped the towel somewhere on the way.  
"Euh… I… eh…"  
"Ah wid NEVER… ever… be merrit tae someone else than ye. 'n' dae ye ken how come?"  
"Non."

Instead of answering, the Scotsman came even closer and forced a kiss onto Francis' lips, before he began to stroke across the still smooth and slightly wet skin. His rough hand traced down the back and squeezed one of the butt cheeks hard, then he continued to massage him there.

Instead of getting an explanation, the blonde French was covered in kisses, Scotland started to suck and bite his skin here and there, thus making the republic shivering in delight and moan lightly. Alasdair didn't seem to care whether it was soft smooth skin or it was rough scarred skin that he had on his tongue. The tongue was like fire and ice at the same time to the Frenchman. Soft moans filled the bathroom.

Then Alasdair turned France to stand right in front of the mirror, so he had to see himself, his 'ugly' appearance. He refused to do so first, but the tall redhead was too strong. "Nngh… is this really necessary?", he blushed fiercely now and also saw in the mirror that he was already hard. He hated himself for to look like that. He couldn't accept that look… that he was ugly and still 'having fun'. In his mind, ugly people didn't even deserve that kind of feeling.  
"…Aye.", was the short reply. Alasdair knelt down behind him and pressed his butt cheeks aside, to make room for his tongue. He now started to lick, nip and kiss his entrance, carefully wetting and preparing it.  
"Aahhh~", Francis had to avoid the look in the mirror. He couldn't bring it over him to watch the redhead doing this kind of thing. He couldn't imagine that this was even enjoyable to the other one. At the same time, his body enjoyed it very much. Just like in the old times and he couldn't keep himself from making sounds, becoming louder and more passionate. Francis remembered the time well that they had their first sex and Alasdair had removed the French hand from the mouth. He had wanted to hear his lover scream out for lust.

By now, Scotland had come back to his legs and stood behind France, forced him to look into the mirror again. "Did ah say ye cuid stoap peepin'?"  
The blonde huffed and looked terrified into the mirror and just in time saw that Alasdair had removed his shorts and moved into Francis's Anus. Francis gritted his teeth, because it hurt a little. At the same time he saw his own member twitch in delight and become even harder. The redhead in the meantime situated himself inside his younger lover. It was so exciting to both see and feel what was going on… Francis knew that it wouldn't take long until they both would come. Or so he thought.

But today, Alasdair would have his way with him and began to mercilessly pound into him. He grabbed his hips firmly with only one hand, while the other one was pressed firmly around Francis' member, preventing him from coming too early. It was bliss and pain and the same time. The 'poor' Frenchman almost lost balance, he had a hard time standing normally and both whined and moaned loudly. The redhead still forced him to look into the mirror. Anytime Francis tried to look somewhere else, the hand on the hip fixed his head back to look right at their reflection. Oh sweet torture.  
France's body began to tremble helplessly and his teeth chattered against each other as if he was cold. Precum was already dripping from the reddened tip of his cock. He was thoroughly filled with pleasure, almost more than his head could even grasp.

Then at some point, everything went quickly. The Scotsman moaned deeply himself and started stroking the blonde's manhood quickly. Through the precum it was pretty slick also. At the same time Alasdair pounded against the prostrate, the sweet spot inside Francis, like crazy. Both screamed in lust and when the blonde came, his white semen sprayed against the mirror.  
Francis's sight became blurry, faintly he took note that he was milked by Alasdair until there was nothing more that could come out of him. A few seconds after he had come, the redhead came hotly inside him. White liquid came out of his entrance.

As they had finished, Alasdair began to speak again.  
"…Ah don't wantae share this wi' a'body else. You're mah guidwife, na yin else. Fur god's sake, ah wid pat mah lee in line ilka time it's necessary. Dae ye pure think ah wid dae this fur 'such a horrid person'? You're nae horrid."  
"But…I'm far from being perfect. I can't even take care of myself."  
"Ye don't huv tae be perfect. That's whit mak's ye bonny."

The two of them then went under the shower. Alasdair's skin was still full of sand and salt from the beach and now both needed to refresh.

"…G-gilbert did it. He cut me open. I can't remember what happened after that. I passed out from the pain.", Francis finally said.

"When I checked Paris… when the war had started, there was this little girl. She cried and I wanted to help her. …She was just the bait for a trap set out for me. She called herself 'Vichy-France' and claimed that she would take over. …After I was captured I spent days or weeks inside a truck until they opened the door and I was in Germany. There was the house of Ludwig and Gilbert. You know who they represent? …The first things they taught me was to speak their language. Whenever I would not do something they demanded, they beat me down. I often didn't get food… I should have been used to starvation but I wasn't. …And then they set me to work in their garden. I could not steal anything to eat from there, they put a soldier to watch me.  
And then there was the time of darkness. When I was too weak to work, they pushed me into their cellar. And whenever they felt like it, they tortured me. The cuts and bruised were the result of this. …As I see now, there is hardly any relevance to the state my country is in. The people seem to be fine, compared to me. …You know, when there is war on our grounds that we feel their pain. It's not the other way around. They don't feel our pain."

"Francis…", the Scotsman pitied his wife now. "This insae yer fault. Ye juist tried tae hulp back then. Whit kind o' shitty world is that whin kind 'n' crakin' fowk git punished lik' that?"  
"Kind…", Francis repeated the word as it seemed to strange and far away.  
"Aye, kind.", green eyes looked now gently into the blue ones. "Yer th' 'wee prince'."  
"You are kind, too. Kind for caring for me. Not just now but over the years. When I was a baby, when I became older… for bearing with my curiosity, my lifestyle, my language. When I think about that, I don't think I deserve such an awesome person like you are."  
"Ah vowed tae tak' care o' ye whin we git merrit."  
"You also took care of me before that.", Francis frowned. Hadn't he said so?  
The redhead thought for a while, then he smiled and kissed the blonde. "Ah jalouse oor fates huv intertwined."  
"We were meant to be together?"  
"That's whit Ah think."

After having finished showering, the couple decided that it was time to eat. Francis decided to cook a rather light meal for them, he didn't want to eat that much… and in fact if Scotland wanted, Francis would give him his portion.  
"Whit's wrong now?"  
"Nothing is wrong. …I have an idea.", the blonde frowned, staring at his cooking utensils. He hadn't really started yet anyway. A smile tug at his lips. „How about ‚going out for dinner'?"  
They actually rarely went somewhere to eat dinner. That made going to a restaurant rather fancy and special. On the other hand it was very comfortable not to cook for once.  
"Soonds guid, we shuid gang oot mair often anyway."  
„Oui…", Francis went to check his wallet before dressing. It was more than enough what he had. Knowing his Scotsman, he would have to pay for the two of them. Alasdair would never cease to be stingy. He was Scottish after all and therefore didn't like to spend money. Just when things became really messed up and there was trouble, the Scotsman would not hesitate to use his 'dosh'.

They went to an Italian restaurant. As a matter of fact, the Italian brothers worked there too. At first they didn't even recognise Francis, but once they did it was all they cared for – at least the younger one.  
"F-francis, I'm sorry about what happened back then…", Feliciano, the younger one, managed to say. There was tears in his eyes and he claimed that he'd cook the best meal for them he had ever cooked in his whole life.  
"Mon dieu, it's alright, petite frére (little brother)… You couldn't have helped it."  
"B-but I should have tried…I don't know what was wrong. Possibly everything. Doitsu was so scary…"  
"Oui, he was…", Francis seriously didn't want to talk about that now. He became nervous. "…why don't you just go back into the kitchen and cook something nice? I mean, Écosse and I are really hungry."

"…That wis unusual o' ye – sending him awa'. Bit ah kin ken ye.", Alasdair muttered.  
"Hé bien, if french restaurants would not require festive outfits and flawless manners, I would go there. I just wanted something comfy.", and that was the actual difference between Italian and French restaurants, beside the choice of food. And certainly it didn't always have to be something high class fancy. "The point there would be that you wouldn't find any nations there. Only maybe some of my regions."  
"Aye…", Alasdair lit a cigarette. He felt very comfortable in the Italian restaurant.  
"This is also a foretaste of what will be once I show up at one of these… eh.. court meetings you spoke of."  
"Th' 'process o' nurnburg'. That's a toon somewhere in Germany."  
"Nürnberg? Berg is 'mountain'."  
"Lik' Iceberg?"  
"Oui. .. Though that reminds me of the Titanic."  
„A'm sorry."  
„Don't be. The time on the Titanic wasn't only bad. The first days were amazing. I don't regret anything."

"What are you doing, Fratello?", Feliciano innocently asked as his older brother was lurking behind the door that was separating the kitchen from the guest room.  
"…Questo Stronzo. I hope they leave soon.", Lovino said, being totally absorbed in hating the French sitting there on the table and chatting with the Scotsman. "Why haven't you hindered them on entering anyhow? You should know that they were our enemies."  
"But they are not anymore. They are our guests now. Now bring them their food.", Italy ordered, giving his older brother the plates as the older brother was working as a waiter this evening.

"It sure was a nice evening~", Alasdair said in a good mood as they walked home. The restaurant hasn't been as far away from their small village, so they could walk.  
"Oui, it was. We just shouldn't do that too often or else it won't be special anymore… and we become poor."  
"O' coorse ~"

„…Oh! Look at this. A meteor shower.", Francis pointed to the sky.  
„ Quick! Wish fur something!"  
The two closed their eyes and quickly wished… for the same thing. To stay together forever, that no power in this world might separate them again. Their relationship had no firm foundation, it simply existed, so it seemed. Time itself had melted their fate together, yet their history was shaped new every day no matter how many wars they had fought side on side.  
They had nothing in common, in fact their families had always been fighting each other, the south of Europe against the north. And then still they were clinging to each other so very close…


	72. Chapter 71

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

"A'll gie ye a treat whin ye gang.", the redaired Scotsman promised.  
"What treat?"  
"It won't be a surprise whin ah tell… You'll huv tae dae it. Gang tae th' Nurnberg trials we pat up. 'n' some ither meetings ur an' a' in line. Ye huv tae gang back oan bein' a full-time nation again."  
"Mee…. I dun wanna.", Francis pouted.  
"…Treat."  
"What if the treat is not good enough all the work?"  
"Bit it's. Trust me."

It was now two years after the war had ended and France was strong enough to take up his job as a nation again, so the Scotsman found. The scars were almost invisible; the hair was still short but alright. It was like sending the poor blonde to his first day of school after a long sickness… which in some way was the same.  
"Alright. … Sooner or later I have to pick it up again.", France looked all but happy. On the other hand he knew that when he'd lay off being a nation would just make place for the next in line – Île-de-France would become France in his place.  
"That's a guid wee prince."  
"Will you come with me? …In case something happens."  
"Whit shuid happen?"  
"I am going to that trial, right? What if the German brothers are there? I'd be terrified."  
"Na, ah spoke tae mah wee brother. Thay wull jook ye huvin direct contact wi' thaim."

In the end it was the first time Francis walked outside the house without his bodyguard. The Frenchman was very insecure but he simply paid attention to his surroundings.  
The world had changed a lot after the war. Women had become so independent, cars everywhere and everything had become busier. People looked mostly unfriendly and large buildings were rising, trying to compete each other in height.  
If that was how the future was going to be, the world would definitely crumble into pieces.

Before the Republic arrived at the building in Nürnberg where they held the trial, he saw England and China waiting in front of the door.  
"Ah, Am… ..France? Is that you?", Arthur recognised the older one on the beard.  
"法國, you're back, aru."  
"…Oui.", Francis was very nervous being stared at like this. Usually he was more confident and would be somewhat proud to be looked at. But he knew himself that it was not his beauty they were looking for, they were checking for flaws the war had left on him. "Euh… are you the only nations here?"  
"No, there's also Canada. America is supposed to be here also."  
"And Russia. He is supposed to participate the trials also, aru… I didn't think you'd make it. You look good.", China was a rather old nation and therefore was pretty wise. It would not hurt to sow a little compliment over a man that was in France's state.  
"Merci.", France smiled a little. But then his interest was set for Matthieu. He wanted to see his oldest son.  
"Matthew is somewhere inside the building. He said he would prepare everything."  
"…And you gave him a new name?"  
"It's just the Anglican version of it."

Then, Ivan arrived. He greeted everyone nicely and then asked for America straight away.  
"Good thing he is not here yet.", the Russian said. There was some kind of cold hostility between the two nations. It was best when they avoided each other. "Well, Франция (Francia)? Everything okay?"  
"Oui.", his eyes searched for explanation in England. The Frenchman had noticed just how much he had missed during his time off being a nation. But as long as Russia stood there, also England wouldn't say anything about the situation. "What actually has happened, after I… after I surrendered?"  
"Oh, not much. We just took out Germany and Prussia. They were petty little dogs, eh?. Woof, woof."  
Francis flinched and shivered at the word 'dogs', and moreover at the barking that Russia imitated. Now he really wished that he had insisted on taking Scotland with him. Arthur noticed that and unconsciously took the Republic's hand to distract him.  
"France, why don't we already go inside? I am certain, M… Matthieu is happy to see you too.", Arthur gave the former enemy a nervous smile and sent him into the building.

"Th-that was close.", Francis murmured, feeling the ground beneath his legs again. There was still some nauseous feeling in his head but it was manageable.  
"I know, right? Russia has always been like this. …Anyway, after you 'surrendered', America joined the war. Just like in the First World War he was backing us up very well. He fought Japan in the Pacific and he sent loads of troops to your land to fight and free you. It was… a piece of cake, he would say. In no time we had gained Paris back.", Arthur told. He found it strange to talk like this to the older man, but it was all better than standing outside with a creepy Russian.  
"Why are you being so nice?"  
"… Let's not talk about that now, shall we? …Anyway, after the war had ended, the Soviet Union became pretty strong. There is now a constant challenge between him and America. It's nothing like our rivalry back then.", England told France in short about the Atomic bombs in Japan, then said that there was several nations allowed to handle Atomic weapons and that Russia and America threatened each other with them in case the other wouldn't do as pleased. There was the situation in the close east, Iran and other states were involved. America wanted to chase out the Russians and threatened to use Atomic weapons in case Russia disobeyed. Russia on the other hand was staying cold and asked if America 'had the balls' to do it.

"You're right, this is nothing like us. Even when we had Atomic bombs back then. … I wouldn't have used them. From what you told me it is very inhuman and something for forever. You can't just go and regret it… ", Francis softly said.  
"I'm glad that you see it this way. Because now you're a nation with a power over Atomic bombs."  
"I have them?"  
"Yes. …and me too."  
"…Do all members of the Allied Forces have them?"  
"In short, yes. …But I think some of the others would use everything to get the same technology."

"That's very enlightening. …What is in plan for today here?"  
Arthurs face turned sad for a while. "We are taking to protocol what /they/ did to you. You have to tell us everything."  
France stood still. "…You can't ask me to. Why would you want that?"  
"Don't worry. We prepared a lot to do it. We put together a catalogue of questions and Canada will be the one to ask you them and has a tape running along with that. You can of course also chose to not answer them. But we have to do it – for protocol.  
After all, there isn't much that you can do. You surrendered pretty much at the beginning of the war and this is about war crimes."  
"I didn't surrender at all. …It was all planned by them!", Francis scoffed. "I want to clarify that in the first place."  
"Well, another thing is with… what Russia did. I think this is a clear sign of what they did to you."  
"Hm?"  
"The dogs."  
Francis flinched again.  
"…Just what I meant.", Arthur sighed and opened a door. "We're there."

Arthur opened the door to what liked to be a simple smaller conference room. Matthieu was already sitting there and reading pieces of paper. Also on the table were usual bureau utensils and a tape recorder. Looking up and seeing that Arthur and his father had arrived, the boy smiled and got up to greet them properly. Just that the boy looked now already older than England and France due to his territory being so large.  
"Papa, England!", 'Papa' received a hug, England not.  
"Finally someone who does not recognise me as 'America'."  
"Who does?"  
"Angleterre."  
"What? … I corrected myself. It's not my fault that your hair makes you look like him. Let it grow longer again, you git."  
"I am, I am… it just takes so very long."

"Well, Papa… Mister England has told you what we have ahead of us?", Matthieu started as they were left alone.  
"Oui, he did. …mh, but you don't speak French at all anymore, Matthieu?"  
"…No.", Canada's eyes darkened. "He has… taught me otherwise. Every time I talked French, he'd shove soap into my mouth. He said that I would sound perverted."  
France had to grin. "Yes… I get that all the time~ Arthur is just too sensitive about that. I guess when you get to live without him that much you can talk French all you want."  
"…Oui.", Matthieu smiled again. Then he lowered his voice. "how… ugh, how is… Daddy?"  
"He's doing fine. …He made me go here."  
"I see… Mh… let's get this over with, alright? It will be uncomfortable. I'm sorry, Papa."

The question round took up all afternoon. There was questions about how his life in prison had be, what they had been doing with him, how they had tortured the Frenchman…The sun had set when they had finished. Canada had tears in his eyes when it was over. France, on the other hand looked just tired.  
"We should go… and have a nice drink together. Perhaps with something strong in there. You're old enough to drink, mon fils.", the older nation offered.  
"Mmh… mhkay…", Matthieu took his glasses off and wiped the tears from his face.

Not much later they were sitting in a bar somewhere near the house where the trial took place.  
"You also have to sign papers, papa…", Canada managed to say sloppily. He already had drunk a bit, but still was able to have some sort of self-control. Francis wondered if it was the genes of his Scottish father preventing him from being too hilarious.  
"What kind of papers?"  
"To enter the …the United Nations. We're trying to have some sort of… mh.. global alliance. 's strange, I know. 's not really possible. They cannot marry all, can they? And I cannot marry you. You're my… my pops."  
Francis chuckled. "I think times are different now, Matt… They're not traditional Alliances. …I will always be married to your father."  
"…Then it's going to be cool."

After deciding that Canada should not be on his own, he brought the nation home to where Scotland was already waiting patiently.  
"It haes become late. How come didn't ye ca' sae ah cuid git ye?"  
"I… I forgot that there is a phone. I'm still not used to that technology.", Francis rolled his eyes. "Besides, I had some nice time with our son. We went out drinking tonight after 'work'. And now I brought him here because I don't think it's safe to leave him with Angleterre. The boy would freak out. … but I think that Matthieu is old enough to drink."  
"…", Alasdair casted a glance at the young man that was his son.

France put his son to sleep onto the sofa, the only other sleeping place than the bed that the couple shared.  
"Now, where's my treat? I've been a good prince and went through all this shit. Russia scared me."  
Alasdair laughed softly and got France's hand to lead the man into their sleeping room. "Ah ken, ah ken. … come wi' me."  
"Treat?", Francis whispered excitingly, having sparkling eyes like on Christmas eve.  
"Mmh… Fur wance, ye did a stoatin jab in pul'in thro' this. Then… Matha haes grown up sae muckle.", Alasdair looked into the direction of the living room. "He looks a lot lik' ye whin ye wur younger."

The Frenchman had mixed feelings. Scotland was right when he said that Matthieu looked like a younger France. …. On the other hand, did that mean that Scotland lost interest and was now interested in Canada? They were not blood related after all though it all appeared that the boy was from their blood.  
"'n' third, tae yer treat. …it micht nae keek muckle, bit ne'er baillie a book by tis cover.", and with this, the redhead gave Francis actually a book. One that had been published in English in 1943 and in French two years later. So it was not really a new book, but one that was practically made for Francis – in Albas opinion. The title was 'Le petit prince' (the little prince), written by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.  
"It's… a children's book, eh?", Francis was disappointed by the size and the thickness of the book. The only thing that lightened his mood a little was the title itself. "It bears the nickname that you gave me."

Despite the small size of the book and everything that spoke against it, the Scot had trusted Francis on reading it, so the blonde did just that. He sat down and casted a look into it. Upon reading the dedication, the Frenchman already felt satisfied. The way it was written in was simply pretty. Just one thing was bad about it. … The person this book was dedicated to, lived in France in this time and was starving and freezing? This wasn't any good. Should he be looking out for this guy? Actually it was Francis' responsibility to provide that none of his people would suffer.

After a few days – and a few pages further, the Frenchman read about how the little prince had met his new friend, the fox. The prince had been searching for friends in the whole universe. The prince himself had come from a small planet called B612, mind you, and could travel through the stars. Now… the prince had met a small red fox, who said that the only way they could be friends was through taming. Every day the prince would sit closer to the fox until it was enough.  
Thinking about it, Francis thought back to the day he had met Alasdair first. …Yes, the Scot had also been wild. But Francis didn't remember how he had 'tamed' him.

A few pages further, Francis read about how the fox and the prince had to part…A fox would always remain a wild animal. Even taming would not last forever. However, both were grieving.  
The French republic didn't understand that. Why did they have to part when it was hurting them? Why did they decide to do so? The blonde remembered that Alasdair and he had been separate for over 100 years… but it had not been their decision. …Then it had been Scotland who had retreated to Orkney for several years because he had not managed to keep their Alliance. Silly Scotland.  
Now, they would never be apart again. They were responsible for each other.


	73. Chapter 72

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The North Atlantic Treaty was signed in Washington D.C., on April the 4th in 1949. The short and soon famous name for it became NATO. The treaty of Brussels (capital to Belgium) had been signed one year ago and is considered a precursor of the NATO. The major reason this kind of 'Alliance' was formed was a military one.  
The original members that signed the treaty in 1949, were Belgium, Canada, Denmark, Iceland, Italy, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Norway, Portugal, the United States of America, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland… and last but not least France.  
However, when America joined the NATO, the whole thing looked like a club in which the Soviet Union's doom was prepared.

In Europe itself, another kind of Alliance had begun to form. But unlike the NATO one, the West European Union was centred on economy.

And despite the United Kingdom being interested into the West European Union, Scotland still had a bad time of economy. Competitions from all over the world made it hard for the Nordic nation to compete with them.

As for France, the first president of the fourth Republic, Vincent Auriol, who was in charge since 1947 after the provisory government, was very oriented on the USA and the United Kingdom. He wanted to strengthen his nation. In the beginning of his president ship, France had to be rebuilt again. The recovery took up a little too much before anything could be done. However, culture became more westernised, away from the own beauty and most French people just adapted what they saw coming from America. The movies, the fashion (blue jeans), the music.

"Very well. Economy seems great with the money coming from America.", Francis muttered, reading the economy part of the newspaper. After the great intimidation of the war, he seemed to have regained confidence.  
"Ah tellt ye that thare wur treats whin ye wid be daein' stoatin.", Alasdair said with a mischievous grin. He had a package behind his back.  
Francis looked at him and could see the package. "You treat me like it is my birthday….I'm just doing my job."  
"Aye, bit everything ye dae haes tae be praised, sae ye dae it mair. 'n' ah mean… whin ah can't be a stoatin nation, a'm waantin' tae hulp ye tae be yin."  
"Oh, Écosse…"  
"Anyway, this is ma gift fur ye th'day …", Alba gave his wife the –quite heavy- gift box.

Francis unwrapped it carefully and found a television was inside. "Ooh…"  
"It's an invention made by yin o' mah fowk. It kin ainlie shaw black 'n' white picters, bit th' quality is guid. Sadly, thay ainlie shaw progrum in th' forenicht hours. Ah kin hulp ye installing it.", it was no secret that Alasdair was the technician of the two.  
"Oui~", France was very excited about the new gadget. There was an antenna on it through which the signal would be received. The minor problem was to find the right place to put the antenna. Not everywhere would the signal be received well. However, once the spot was found, there should be no problem.

The antenna was installed outside on the roof and Francis was anxious that something might happen to Alasdair and therefore paid painful attention to what he was doing. Scotland couldn't be as experienced in climbing high things as the Frenchman was.  
"Be very careful!"  
"A'm, wee prince. Don't worry. Ower tell me howfur th' …the screen is."  
"The what?"  
"Th' screen. Th' muckle black flat thing oan th' front o' th' tellybox."  
"It's black, of course."  
"Caw yin o' th' knobs thare. Thare shuid be… eh…there shuid be a streenge photie. Something lik' waves o' black 'n' white."  
Back then, TV's didn't have remotes, they worked over knobs that would be turned so the TV was switched on, off, or the program was changed – not that they had a lot of programs back then.

"O-okay, I think I got it.", Francis nervously said after doing as instructed. However, the pictures on the 'screen' changed. It was not only waves, but also 'static snow' and faint test picture. The test picture, so Alasdair explained, was their goal. The usual program would only start at 5 pm and go to midnight. Before and after that, the channel was replaced by a test picture.  
"Noo tell me, whin th' Test picture is acceptable.", Alasdair ordered.  
"Okay. … this is better… no, worse. .. Okay, this is good. Very good. Halt here.", Francis said loudly, so the man on the roof could hear him.

With a smile, Alasdair descendent from the roof and landed inside the living room through the window.  
"Very elegant. …You see? It worked."  
"Aye. We wull huv a crakin' time th' nicht ~"  
"The only problem is that other people might want to come over to see it with us.", Francis pouted. He didn't want to share that special evening with other people. Maybe other evenings, but not this first one.  
"Ah cuid seal it up wi' magic. So… thay wid nae see th' antenna."  
"Magic? You can do magic?"  
"Pff, lang afore th' Sassenach cuid! mah magic is mair powerful than his!"  
"Hahaha, of course. … do it. If you can."

On this evening, a romantic movie went, after a few game shows and news. The whole program was French, but the two didn't mind. One of them anyway… The antenna could only receive as much as the signals around them would give out and not from longer distances like other countries (well unless you'd live close to the border).  
But it all made the love movie ever more romantic. Later on, no one would remember the title, but it was sure nice. It was cinema in their living room with only two lovers, a blanket and something to drink.

Inevitably, Germany became more involved into Europe. It was still a strong nation full of potential. America aimed to give weapons and other things to it, make it independent again, just to help America in the cold war against the Soviet Union.  
But aside from that Germany had to be incorporated into the European Union that was constructing itself.  
France would remain scared of the blonde nation that still looked tough and strong, even after years of being watched by stronger nations like the United Kingdom or the United States. The plan was to slowly give back independence and to integrate the nation. The French politicians were also forcing Francis onto befriending Germany again… again? There was no 'again'. As far as the French republic remembered, he had always been enemies with the German neighbour. Just centuries back… when they both had been tiny baby nations; they had been something like brothers. No one would remember that today.

"Frankreich! …I mean… France… Can I speak to you for a bit?", Ludwig tried. Occasionally he was allowed to walk alone through the corridors of the building that was meant at their place for conferences. But outside there were guards from America, France or the United Kingdom waiting of course.  
The Frenchman stopped dead in his tracks. He, on the other hand, had always been trying to avoid meeting up with the other one alone. It was childish, but he had really learnt his lesson of fear before the other man.  
The French clenched his teeth. "…Oui. Of course…why not.", he was tempted to speak in German like he had painfully learnt in front of the other nation and his brother. But with all his body he fought this urge.

"France…I'm sorry about what happened in the Second World War… about what Gilbert and I have done to you. I know he is sorry. We… we were brainwashed. This is actually silly, because there is no words to fit in the apology…", the deep voice broke. "I'm sorry, France. …Je suis désolé."  
The Frenchman finally looked into the direction of the taller man. It sounded like Ludwig had learnt hours to say these French words. There was effort in them. "I'm also sorry… that it had to come this far."

Francis thought about it. They had to forget about the past. For the generations to come they had to be brave. Or at least /he/ had to be brave to swallow his pride, his hurt and come closer to the German again. He was the nation of his people. He was the one holding his hand over them.  
The older nation but turned his back and walked away.

"Écosse, I am not made for paperwork.", the French nation said as he sat behind his desk. Occasionally he would take Scotland with him to get rid of the boredom. And like he had said, he wasn't too fond of paperwork. Francis' hair had been growing back to the same length it had been before. But with the new way of parting the hair it looked simply stunning, though Francis had to say that it had become darker than it was before. There sure was something about it. And also the scars the World War had left, were practically gone among the two of them.

"I would rather like to work in my old job…to be a chef at a fancy restaurant. I wonder how other nations cope with that. I imagine that hardly anyone of them was raised to… to /this/."  
"That cuid be true.", Alasdair was just as interested.  
„You… were raised to be a warrior, eh? It also has changed. Not only your share on the war, but also the war itself. …Shouldn't you be liking war as a warrior?"  
Francis never meant such things offensive. He was very open-minded about things like that.  
"…Yea, it haes changed. 'n' ah don't lik' it anymair. Back then 'twas mon against mon. Th'day ye just… ye juist pull th' trigger 'n' you're dane. Thare is… hee haw tae it. ", the redhead looked very unhappy about it.

"…what was Angleterre?"  
"An' a' a warrior."  
"Pays de Galles (Wales)?"  
"Identical. It runs in th' fowk. A' o' th' Kirklands wid be brave warriors. "  
"Who decided that?"  
"It was… mither in th' foremaist steid, ah think. Then ah said that it hud tae be this wey. Bit that wis whin she hud left 'n' Cymru 'n' Éire wur awready thare. Thair destiny wis awready put the gether. Bit forby becoming warriors, thay an' a' hud tae wirk wi' magic. …However, I'm th' maist skilled yin wi' magic."  
Francis grinned. His husband was constantly praising his awesome magic, yet he hardly used it.

In the meantime, the postman had brought the mail into Francis' office in the Élysée Palace. Mail was actually something he liked. Sometimes there was very nice things on there. Reports, small diaries from his colonies that were still his, then there was advertisement… which was actually interesting in a way to get to know what was new. Back then you wouldn't get as much advertisement on TV or outside in the streets. And internet wasn't really developed, though behind closed doors, people already experimented with the creation of computer.  
Anyway, this time the mail contained an invitation…

"It's from Germany.", contact with Germany was still awkward. The invitation was for a carnival's party. Carnival in Germany was a feast in which parades were made and the participants of the parade would throws candies while wearing costumes. You could say that it was similar to Halloween, but it had a happy character not a spooky one. The nifty thing was, that the official 'honour' corps of the carnival were wearing uniforms from the Napoleonic time, just that they had different colouring.  
"hé bien. It's only one invitation, but I don't see why you should not be able to go with me.", France looked at Scotland without which he didn't want to go anywhere.  
"If it mak's ye happy …"  
"Of course!"

On the 'Rose Monday' they stood among the hundreds of people on the side of the parade watching as the wagons were anticipated.  
"Aww… I didn't know that all of them were customised… merde, what do I do?"  
" Trust th' magician.", Alasdair grinned. „ Come, let's gang fur an hee haw neuk. "  
The 'hee haw neuk' (empty corner) was hard to find.  
As it was found, Alasdair murmured some ancient Gaelic words. Not much later, Scotland was dressed up as a Pirate, just like in the old times. France was dressed as a…. French princess. „Are you fucking kidding me? Do something better!"  
The Scotsman sighed. He thought for a while and then magically dressed his husband up as a Scotsman with full tartan and all. The tartan colour was blue in several shades. "Happy noo?"  
"…Why didn't you give me underwear?", Francis didn't really look happy.  
"Fur ah ken whit a real Scotsman haes tae keek lik'. Noo don't mak' that coupon 'n' come. We din wantae Lassy a' th' candy."  
Unhappily and clinging his legs together against the cold weather, the French Scotsman stumbled behind the Scottish Pirate.

During the festivities – Alasdair had collected a ridiculously huge load of candy – Germany appeared. He was dressed up like a Herald from the medieval times. It suited him quite nicely.  
"Bonjour Allemagne.", Francis smiled politely.  
"Hallo Fran…ce.", Ludwig decided to use the Franco-English version. Obviously all of this aimed to get Francis' sympathy. „And of course, hallo Scotland."  
Alasdair had just stuffed his mouth with a bonbon and blushed. "…M-moarn Germany."  
"I see you are enjoying Karneval?"  
"Oui. It's a nice fest…euh… I like the traditions in there, though it is different everywhere. I mean in south Germany it's more like… creepy costumes with getting rid of the winter than throwing candy at the people standing on the side?"  
"Ja, that's right. You're well informed."  
"…I used to rule over this territory under Napoleon. And now I have to watch over the happenings here as an occupying force."  
"…I know.", Germany said after a Pause. He didn't really like to be reminded of the splitting of his country; neither liked he being reminded of Napoleon. In his memory it had been an evil spirit that had come with Napoleon that had taken parts of his memory. Germany did not remember his childhood clearly.

"Do you think that we might become something like friends in the future?", Germany bluntly said, which was unusual. Friends had something to do with feelings and the tall blonde was no man of feelings.  
"Is it what your government wants?"  
"To be honest, yes. They want us to work together."  
„…Mine to.", France had to admit. „Especially the secretary of state. Robert Schuman."  
"His name sounds German."  
"Oui. I don't like him."  
Ludwig snorted. "But really. When we want to stop another war from coming in the future it is necessary that we work together. Not only the two of us but all of Europe."  
"That's true…", Francis bit his lower lip and watched Alasdair who was still occupied in collecting candy. The redhead was like a little child.  
"It's just that… well, I have the feeling that we would be about the same level, regardless now that I am.. eh.. occupied? Well, you know what I mean."  
"Ouai.", it was England, America, Belgium and of course France himself that the German meant. Sooner or later he would have to cope without them as his watch guard.

"…Is it true that Scottish don't wear anything beneath their kilts?", Ludwig curiously asked. Then he looked at Francis – who started to blush slightly.  
"Euh… eh… Well, I am not a Scotsman, am I? I'm French.", and his look said ‚Don't you dare to touch my kilt'. It would have been in vain anyhow because Alasdair would have noticed and then Germany would have died. Scotland was taller and stronger than Ludwig.  
Ludwig but had to laugh over Francis' scared look. "It's alright… I was just curious."

"We should meet more often.", Ludwig said at the end of the event. "It's… actually fun to do something like this."  
"Well, the only thing I could offer is the parade on July the 14th… but I often spend it differently.", Francis looked into the direction of Alasdair.  
" 'n' ah kin offer th' 'Highland Games'. This wid be actually something fur ye. ", Alasdair poked Ludwig in the arm. "In thae games ye huv tae Test yer braun. 'n' ye seem tae huv some o' it."  
"Do I have to wear a kilt also?", Ludwig asked, after processing the thick Scottish accent in his head.  
Alasdair grinned as mischievously as he could. "Aye~"  
"You get used to it.", Francis confirmed.


	74. Chapter 73

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

In April 1951 a pact between France and Germany was settled. The foundation of this pact was the trade with coal and steel which usually would have cost a lot of fees. The place in Germany where most coal and steel was mined was in a region that was under Great Britain's control. But slowly, the mines were not usable any longer…  
It was a next step in the European Union, and for Germany the next step into Independence.  
As a side effect of the pact, Ludwig and Francis learnt to work together, sometimes they also spent their time off together, of course always with Alasdair as a bodyguard in the shades.

And even when Alasdair wasn't exactly allowed to conferences, he would always wait outside like a raincoat or an umbrella for Francis. It was a strange symbiosis; the two lovers could never be without each other. It was almost a physical pain when they were separated. In the beginning of conferences, when they were parted, France was unable to concentrate as his thoughts would always fly back to the man standing or sitting outside. It made the blonde wish for Scotland's independence.

The movie of the year was 'an American in Paris', and Alfred started picking on Francis from the time the film had premiere in the cinemas in summer 1951.  
"Hey dude, you're so lame here in France. No wonder you need an American to get off."  
"We're pretty fine without you Americans…", but Francis could not ignore the fact that his country became more and more American styled. There was also popping up this new kind of restaurant called 'McDonalds'. The quality of the food was fine, but the food itself was not so well. It was quickly made and rich on fat. Alfred was praising it ever since the Second World War, especially the 'hamburgers'. He had them with him everywhere he went.  
And there was also other things influencing the European continent such as milk bars in which you could get alcohol free drinks (mostly made from milk), American cars which were especially broad, Juke boxes from which you could choose any piece of music you'd like for a coin. The music itself also would majorly come from America. There was this guy named Elvis Presley who was an uprising artist. Johnny Cash was also helping to define a new kind of music. The music was also faster than what people had before. It made teens become wild. It was Rock'n'Roll.  
The only prominent French answer to that was Edith Piaf, a chanson singer with a huge talent.

And all of this was the reason that Alfred started picking on the Europeans; declared himself as the superior nation. He was the hero but he was no longer kind and nice… well, not that he had ever been, but now he was not saving anyone. Instead he was leading one war after another.  
From 1950's June right on he was involved in the Korean war, which basically was a war against Russia, he and Ivan were splitting Korea into North and South Korea, Communist and Capitalist.  
Then there was Indochina, in which a similar project was going on. It was one of France's colonies from which Francis himself was too late for to interfere and help. The war in Indochina was going on since 1946 and France was most likely to lose this colony.  
In 1954, Indochina was divided into Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam. Vietnam also split in two.  
And where France had left, America took place despite the war in Korea had just ended and the long wars in Vietnam started.

"Yo, Whit urr ye reading?", Francis' favourite redhead asked.  
"A comic book…", the blonde dreamily replied. "It's a Japanese Comic in this case. I also have some American, I have to admit. …Well, do you think it is possible that I will also make some Comics in the future time? It appears to be some kind of artwork."  
Alasdair had to laugh and ruffled the hair of the blushing France.  
"A'm sure ye'll huv yer ain Comics someday whin ye wirk solid enough oan it. Ah mind that ilka time ye wanted something ye wid git it. Na maiter whit 'twas."  
"…You know that this is not the case. I can't have /everything/ I want, just because I want it. …We will never have babies."  
The last remark made Scotland blush now. "…We… cuid huv a go th' nicht."  
Francis had to laugh. Alasdair never lost that cute inside – which was also one of the main attractions, why Francis never got bored of the redhead. No matter how many centuries would pass, he would stay true with him.

The following years were pretty peaceful in Europe. Francis was involved in labour on international, continental and national levels. The coming goals would be to let the colonies go. Some of them were now fully grown up, one more reason to do so. And in the inner political scenery was also a lot to do. If it was for France, he'd return to his roots. Where was all this orientation onto America going to?  
In January 1954, Coty became the new President. With his help, France might find his own way again.

As for Great Britain, he now had a queen once again. She was two years on the throne and her name was Elisabeth II.. She held the sceptre firm in her hands. She was a very strict and rather conservative queen. It was rather unlike that she would give independence back to Scotland…

One day, Alasdair and Francis were out to buy groceries. It was a usual day like always. …or almost.  
The road they were crossing for to get back to the car was actually not that busy. But the youngsters with their cars were just unpredictable. Alasdair shoved Francis just on time over to the other side. Screeching wheels on the asphalt and a loud 'thud' was the last things that the blonde Frenchman heard.  
"ALASDAIR!", Francis cried out. He could care less about the groceries and dropped them right on the pavement. Then he headless sprinted to Alasdair, who was lying motionlessly on the street. The driver and the car that had hit the redhead were gone. The Scottish leg was unnaturally bent. It was obviously broken. His elbow was scratched and there was blood coming out of his nose.

"Alasdair! Non! Alasdair, speak to me!", the Frenchman panicked. "Someone help me! …Quelqu'un ... s'il vous plaît aidez-moi! Appeler une ambulance! (Someone… please help me ! Call an ambulance!)"

The ambulance came quick, but to Francis it seemed to last hours. He tried to comfort Alasdair – he was a nation, of course he was alive – but he feared to cripple the man further. And then they were still on the street with no protection. France whimpered, looking at the approaching cars.  
Then he decided that he should protect the redhead no matter what and just stood before his lying form. The car drivers were annoyed, honked their horns, but passed by without even coming close to the Scotsman or Francis.  
The ambulance fetched the redhead, placed him on a stretcher and headed straight away to the hospital. Francis had claimed to be his wife, just to go along with them. Gay marriage was still awkwardly looked upon, was even a crime, but in the momentum no one cared.

Half an hour later, Alasdair was lying in a clean bed, his leg in gypsum, but still unconscious. The doctor said that this was only momentarily and that he'll just cope with some headaches later. The healing pattern was just fine. …Possibly fine for a human being, not so much for a nation. For a nation he would have been alright already. It was all because England kept Scotland down. The nation's economy was not the best. The Scottish pound was worthless compared to the English.  
"You idiot… you don't have to always protect me.", Francis sat next to the bed the redhead was stationed in and cried while waiting for the other one to wake up. That Alasdair gave his life; his health for the sake of Francis was nothing new.

It took days. The blonde kept visiting Alasdair whenever he could. In the meantime, he had also substituted the groceries they had bought earlier, since they also contained things that Alasdair had wanted.  
The blonde spent endless hours at the bedside. He had asked if they could bring the redhead home to him, since he could not carry the tall man himself, but the people in the hospital had refused – because Francis was unable to carry him. This was probably the reason why on the other hand, Alasdair had Francis at home after the war. The redhead had no problems with dealing with the Frenchman.

Then, after almost a full week, the redhead began to stir and open his eyes. He said that he could see everything blurry. A little later he confirmed that his vision improved.  
"Alas…", Francis took the older man's hand.  
"Stoap keekin sae worried…A'm braw."  
"I see how fine you are.", the gypsum on the Scots leg was obvious. "How often have I told you these past days how foolish it was to save me like this? I have nothing out of a half-dead hero."  
"Well… it's nae that ah cuid listen. Forby, whit uise haes mah lee whin ah don't protect ye anymair? A'm yer bodyguard."  
"You are not! You're my… my husband. We were meant to be equal in this relationship. I could protect you the same way. It was supposed to be like this right from the start when I remember the points of the Auld Alliance correctly."  
"Pff… Ye cannae mind ony o' that correctly. Ye wur a bairn nation back then."  
"I was not, I was teenage when we got married!"  
"Ye wur a bairn. 'n' ye wantit someone tae watch efter ye."  
"You are not my nurse! Never were!"

Alasdair grinned.  
"Aye, ah wis. Ah huv tae admit that ah wis yer… nurse, sometime afore we git engaged, bit ah wis. Ye wouldnae mind ony o' that."  
Francis blushed. "…You are digressing. I just can't accept you getting hurt like that, is that okay? I just can't… bear that."  
"D-dinnae greet!", Scotland panicked a little. "Ah mean…it's a'richt, ah juist tak' care a lot mair. 'n' we'll juist be braw."  
"Alasdair."  
"Aye?"  
"I don't want a hurt hero. I want one who is good and also takes care of himself. It's not that I'd leave you for one who does, but… just pay more attention.", Francis paused, frowning. "I didn't pay attention to the car either. Not even afterwards. I missed out on taking note of the license plate. It was gone quickly."  
"Ah see. …It cannae be helped, then."

"You can come home, then.", the blonde remarked. He had been waiting for that. "I can get you crutches and then we'll go home. The doctor said that your leg needs about two weeks of healing. One week has almost passed already."  
"A hail week?! whit th' hell?!", the redhead had not expected to have passed out this long.  
"Yes, a whole week. You must wait this long.", the blonde didn't understand.  
"Ah… ah mean… a hail week wis howfur ah passed oot. Whit if something happened tae ye in that time?"  
"Don't be silly, Écosse. We're certainly not at war right now. …And when we're not at war, I'm pretty well at handling myself and a hurt Scotsman.", hurt, the Frenchman looked away. Why did he have to make an exception? Why at war? Why was he no longer good at warfare? Why was he small and weak, when his country was so very large and full of potential? Why was his ego standing in his way most of the time?  
"Dae ye ken, whit hurts me th' maist?"  
Francis looked back at his husband.  
"It's whin ye keek sae serious… 'n' hurt. It's whin ye greet lik' ye did whin ah wis barely awake."

Another time it would have been a lot more different, but now Francis remained serious and in deep thought. "Well, I happen to have emotions, don't I? If I hadn't them, you wouldn't like me either."

"A-anyway.", Francis shakily continued. "Let's grab our things and head home. I bet you can't bear the smell of this fishy place either."  
"Fishy…", Alasdair grinned.  
A pair of crutches was quickly organised. Francis helped Alasdair getting dressed. It really came in handy now that the taller male mostly wore kilts. There was no trouble with a pant leg that wouldn't go over the gypsum. And the gypsum had almost the same size as one of the socks that usually were worn beneath the kilt.

In just a matter of half an hour car drive, they were at home.  
Francis helped Alasdair getting up the stairs though the redhead protested a little. He was a warrior and didn't want any help… Why was he so stubborn, thought Francis on his side. It was a point on which they would never cease to fight, no matter what would happen.

"Euh… Écosse, I'm sorry but I have to go.", the Frenchman explained after a short phone call of President Coty. "My boss wants me at Élysée, it seems important. Can you handle it yourself here?"  
"O' coorse ah kin, A'm nae a bairn.", the Scotsman was sitting in front of the TV. By now, more programs had popped up and the time in which they sent their program was longer, not only from 5 pm to midnight. It almost became Alasdair's favourite hobby to watch TV.  
"Well…. I guess not. But even when I am not around with you protecting me from evil cars you can get hurt. I know that from Britannia."  
Alasdair gave him a half-annoyed, half-asking look.  
"Monsieur petit-Écosse crossed a river and halfway drowned in there because he was too awesome to use the wooden board that made a makeshift bridge…", Francis laughed.  
"France!", Alasdair blushed furiously, his cheeks challenging his haircolour.  
"Ahahaha, so, Au revoir, douce Écosse 3", Francis hummed and went out of their flat, after blowing Alasdair a kiss.

"…You want me to /what/?", Francis asked, after having heard what the president wanted from him. "But this is impossible! I can't do it!"  
"It's for the sake of yourself. You will die when you don't do it. So go for it."  
"I will die? Is it that serious? I can't imagine… besides that the current situation. … Does it really need that?"  
"It does. So go there and do as I told you."  
"…. And it really can't be helped? Is there no other way?"  
"No other way. No further debates. Go. And here you have the paper that you need.", Coty handed him a piece of paper that looked like a form to fill in.  
Francis reluctantly took it. "…it really can't be helped."


	75. Chapter 74

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

"W-w-would you…eh… marry me?", god, why was he asking this, he thought himself and made a reluctant face. What was this shit his president had asked him to?  
"You…/what/?", a very annoyed England asked back.  
"…I say it one more time. I would like for you… to marry me", France shifted. There was actually a chance on how he could survive that. He knew that England would disagree. His president had ordered him to do that. Now he was obeying and at the same time he would /not/ marry England. There was just no way, because he was married to Scotland – the Alliance was no longer in action but they had secured a marriage on human base – and then even if he was 'free', England would always have declined that request, wouldn't he?  
Then again, Coty had said that he would die when Great Britain declined.

The president of France had explained that his republic needed alliances. One had been constructed in 1948 with the newly formed state Israel – the state made from the Jews as the United Nations had decided for them to have a home. However, more alliances were needed to secure the Suez Canal from potential threats in a context of decolonisation.  
The Suez canal had been built to connect the Mediterranean sea with the red sea, and thus the Indian ocean. The ships didn't have to go around the southern tip of Africa anymore. The canal had been built by French government, and therefore belonged to France like a colony. But there was Egypt close by… It was a problem and a possibility that Egypt would take the important water street away, leaving France without the profit of it.

"That's very funny, France. …I just don't believe it's April fools yet.", Arthur was very uncomfortable.  
Francis however remained gloomy. He felt just as uneasy.  
"What is it, old chap? Can't you even afford to buy a calendar?", Arthur laughed nervously. Okay, this was still definitely better than him shouting madly.  
"…You are wrong, mon ami. And this is not so funny."  
"Right, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Francis handed him the piece of paper with the form that the President had given him along with a pen.  
"Here, take this."  
"…That's a marriage registration form, you idiot!", Arthur shrieked.  
"Non…Can't you see, it's a calendar….I brought it just for you.", and with that, Francis forced the pen into England's hand as well as grabbing the hand holding the pen firmly.  
"U-unhand me! Stop that nonsense, you fobbish twit!"  
"Just sign it!", and with that, France forced England to subscribe the registration form.  
"How could you do such thinggg?"  
"I said sign it!"  
"Nooo, stop it! I don't know what you're up to but I don't like it!", Arthur shoved Francis off, before the name was even completed.  
"I hate it also, but I don't have that much of a choice! …Come on. Blame that Suez Canal. If it was for it I would become bankruptcy. If I don't marry you I will die!"  
"That's still not a satisfactory reason to get married! Here's what I think of your damned form!"  
"Nooon! What are you doing?"  
"Now you see? This is what happens when you force people to marry you! Besides, you are cheating on my brother!"  
"You fiend… don't you even care if I die? Écosse can't help me with this either! Please…I'm begging you. You have to listen! I could become Great Britains little French village if you want me to. Come on, help me!"  
"Bloody fool! Why would I even care? First of all, you need to accept your failure- Aahh?", Francis was behind England and muted him.

After hours of convincing England to help him, the Frenchman was tired. He had succeeded. Arthur was willed to help him. United, they would fend off Egypt, the former colony to England… but there was another problem for Francis – not for France. And this was to convince Scotland that he was still his number one.  
What a lousy idea to ask England to marry him anyhow! How stupid!  
After some thoughts, he had a plan. This plan involved abducting his president…  
"Say it loud…", Francis commanded with a cold voice. "and in English, so he can understand you."  
"It… it was me. I ordered my nation to ask Britain to marry him."  
Alasdair glared at the middle aged stocky President. It was not so long after Alasdair's accident – which had caused Francis to have an even worse conscience.  
"Merci, mon president.", Francis glared just as dark as the redhead. Then he released his governor. "You can go home now. Adieu."

"Noo wis this necessary, Francis?"  
"Absolutely. Oui. If it wasn't for him, I would have never asked Angleterre that stupid question. It doesn't even make sense now that I think closer about it. The Entente Cordial is still in force…besides that I am married to you. …two kings had once decided for me to offer my bum for another nation. A president can't do that. It's a few centuries too late."  
Alasdair blushed.  
"Besides, I have brought some gifts for you.", he got out of his bag: a flower bouquet made from thistles and iris, and a small gift box. "You're my husband. You deserve nice things. You deserve to be showered in gifts, flowers – that don't sting – and love."  
The blush on Alasdair's face was now conquering his hair colour, which found Francis even cuter. The blonde French giggled kissed him on the top of his head.

Carefully, the Scot unpacked the gift box and found a necklace with a Celtic symbol on it. "…this… this is.. magnificent.", he put it on, after staring at it for a long time. And even as the redhead had put it on, he kept staring at it. But he obviously liked it.  
Ever since that car accident, Francis treated Alasdair with gifts every single day, as if to compensate his feelings of guilt. He would have liked to compensate it in that way earlier, like in the medieval times, but back then he had been a helpless teenager with no clue of whatsoever. Back then the very thought of someone putting his life in the line was very new and unusual.  
Also, whenever Francis had the time, he'd cook fine meals for his husband as to show his love. This was also something he could have hardly done back then… on the battlefield.

Times had been difficult for the couple. Times remained difficult, but not really for the couple. Their trust into each other was as solid as any rock.  
Back at the Suez Canal, Great Britain had bought the Egyptian share of the canal and was therefore the second largest owner of the canal. The president of Egypt however wanted to drive the foreigners out of his land and nationalized the canal, despite French and British opposition. The Egyptians now shot at anything that would come close to the Suez Canal.

Regarding the situation, Great Britain had changed his mind and was now attacking Egypt alongside France and Israel. They had tried to talk Egypt to open the Suez Canal for everyone, but since Egypt refused, they were using violence against the nation.  
The plan was that Britain would come from the north, Cyprus; Israel would attack from the east, from its homeland and France would attack from the Algerian colony in the west. Egypt, by that time the most powerful Arab state, was defeated in a matter of a few days.

The result was an outcry of indignation in the entire Arab world and Saudi Arabia set an embargo on oil on France and Britain.  
After the American President threatened to sell all American shares of British Pounds and to crash British economy, Britain retired from the conflict and withdrew his forces. Israel also withdrew from it, leaving France alone on the battlefield.

After a while, France retreated as well.  
"What does this stupid America thing he is? Why did he interfere into our political problems? What an asshole!", annoyed, the Frenchman walked along the hallways of the building in which the NATO united and held their conferences.  
"Calm doon, wee prince. Getting a' puffy won't hulp at a'."  
"Shush! You're retired, you have no idea what this is all about!", he said – a little too quickly to realise how much he had hurt Alasdair with that. The Scot but also knew how easily Francis could lose his head. He hardly meant anything what he said when he was angry. "I will give them a good cup of my opinion!"

He slammed the door to the conference room open. The nations that already were gathered in the room stared at him.  
"…I quit.", he sharply said to make things short. "I leave the NATO. Go on without me."  
The nations in the room remained quiet and still looked at the Frenchman like he was from outer space.  
"H-hey Francy pants… you can't just quit like that? You have a contract, remember?", America said. America who regarded the NATO members as his personal underlings.  
"Fine, then give me contract termination papers.", he then saw that there was not really a reaction. "I guess you don't have that, have you? You're not very well prepared for being… the leader of the NATO. …Very well, my word has to be enough. I have enough witnesses."  
"No, you must stay!", America insisted  
"I must nothing. And if you're going to hold me here, I'm stabbing you to death. And if you hinder me, I also have a bodyguard. One word and he cuts your throat.", inwardly the Frenchman found it quite funny to use Scotland as a threat. It just showed that he still praised the old nation as a skilful warrior.  
"Not cool, France!", Alfred only thought what kind of loss it would be to loose France as an ally in the 'war' against Russia. To him it was not much actually. "I didn't need you anyway! You're just a sissy gay weakling whom the world doesn't need! Fuck off, France!"  
Angrily, Francis looked back.  
"Gay douche, gay douche!"  
The Frenchman cursed under his breath and decided to just walk away. Why was America still such a child? Little did he know that this was just the beginning of a terrible development. The world would start to see anything French as gay, weak and hairy…America would never cease to spread bad rumours and make fun of the weak spots of the French. And he also just needed to ask England about those weak spots.

The alliance to Israel was also soon quit, but not as spectacular as the move away from the NATO. The alliance with Israel was no longer needed as the case of the suez crisis was solved. Not positively, but solved anyhow.

At the same day, Canada proposed the creation of the first United Nations peacekeeping force to ensure access to the canal for all, and an Israeli withdrawal from the Sinai. He could just wrap it so well in words that even America supported the idea.  
However, the canal had to be closed until April 1957 because Egypt had intentionally sunk ships and done damage so no one could really use the canal.  
But in April then, the canal was cleared with UN assistance. The UN force was established to maintain the free navigability of the canal, and peace in the Sinai Peninsula.


	76. Chapter 75

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

With America and Russia becoming stronger and stronger, for Europe it was a necessity to compete with them. The only way to do that was to come together. Russia was geographically a lot …connected to Europe, but at the same time not at all. Russia would be no option, no help with that.  
And this was why, after many detours, that on March 25th in 1957, 6 states of central and western Europe grew together to form a collective market. Belgium, Italy, France, Luxembourg, Netherlands and (Western) Germany subscribed the contract to this.  
With this, the economic interests of the nations within the European Economic Community were satisfied. Not all questions were yet covered, but soon enough they would rise up to compete with large and strong nations like America.  
It was not said yet, but Francis feared that one day, America would become jealous. He just felt like it. He didn't share his thoughts with anyone, not even Alasdair. But he had the impression that America attacked everything that had the potential to be stronger than him. Like a peacock that ripped out the feathers of other peacocks.

"…and now the news from the world."  
Alasdair and Francis were sitting comfortably together. They were watching tv more or less and it was a nice evening just after a satisfying dinner.  
"…that the Russian satellite 'Sputnik' successfully entered the terrestrial orbit and is now circling the earth on this xx October 1957. It is the first satellite of humankind that has ever left the earth's atmosphere."

"A … a /satellite/ in the earth's orbit? What is this all about? Can you believe that?", Francis whispered. They still showed pictures of Sputnik and of the earth and what the earth might look like from space.  
"Ah dinnae ken… mibeez aye, mibeez naw. …People reach further 'n' further. Aboot 400 years ago or something we juist crossed th' Atlantic. There's hardly a steid undiscovered oan th' earth. Noo it's th' caw o' th' space. We'll discover that noo 'n' Russia haes stairted it."  
"…The satellite is for to watch the earth.", the blonde spoke louder now that the news was over. "What if Russia discovers secrets about us… I mean us as in …European military secrets. Or American, for that matter…. Ehh, this is no good. We should have our own space discovery… agency or something."  
"Aye, how come don't ye propose that idea in yin o` yer conferences ye huv wi' ither European nations? it's juist th' steid tae blether."  
"You're right. And I don't see why America should be first on this subject again. …all of this is just too expensive but I think it's best when we Europeans cluster together for this project. …Imagine! One day we could land on the moon and find out if it's really made from cheese!"  
"Haha, aye. Or dance among th' stars. …I wonder if there's fowk among th' stars. Or ither lee forms that juist hauld yer horses tae be discovered …", Alasdair imagined how the two of them were dancing slowly among stars, shooting stars and various planets. It was so tranquil, so nice…

For quite a time now, there was space-science going on. People had actually always looked at the stars. Some more, some less. And now that the technology improved, scientists could actually look deeper into space and actually also start something like travel into space or sending out radio waves so an alien form might catch up the signals.

For Europe it was the time when they thought about starting a project of their own. The problem was that it was completely new to Europe and there had to be research and development about it. Soon, the money for it was gone and no further interest was given. So it was left to America and Russia to start into space. And just like in the cold war they tried to become better than the other one.

In January 1959, Coty left the position as a president of France. He had basically dismissed Tunisia and Morocco into independence, had ended the war in Indochina, and had stolen France's nerves as he had asked his nation to marry the United Kingdom…

The new president was not so new. It was Charles de Gaulle who had been a 'makeshift president' in the time right after the war. He was a great man, a nice man. France had to admit that it was sheer pleasure to work with him. De Gaulle had understanding beyond his years and the republic felt like he was back there, working with Louis Quatorze. Both of them had approximately the same mental height.

One of the first things de Gaulle did, was to create the French nuclear force, the 'Force de Frappe'. France was one of the few nations that were entitled to wield nuclear weapons. But there was no unit for it (like air force, naval force, ground troops). The Force de Frappe was in first place just for defence, but de Gaulle made clear that in any case France was attacked, there would be no holding back in using full force of nuclear weapons.  
"Within ten years, we shall have the means to kill… for example 80 million Russians. I truly believe that one does not light-heartedly attack people who are able to kill 80 million Russians, even if one can kill 800 million French… that is if there were 800 million French.", de Gaulle said.  
Francis smiled nervously. He was truly impressed by the very idea of being so strong.  
For Alasdair it meant almost that it made him useless. When Francis could protect himself, there was no need for a bodyguard any longer. But Francis reassured him, that he still needed him. And even if he needed no bodyguard, he needed a man like Alasdair on his side.

With Charles de Gaulle, the fifth Republic was born. With it, many changes came. The trend towards independence of the colonies continued. In May 1958, the air in Algiers was thick to cut. Algiers didn't want French settlers there anymore and wanted their own liberate Arab state. When de Gaulle hadn't called the French out of there, attempting to give Algiers independence with an emergency government, it would have ended in long civil wars. The finished independency however was finally brought in in 1962.

The 1950s ended for France with the magazine 'Pilote' depicting this new French Comic called Asterix which played a different past of Gaul. A past in which a tiny village of Gallic people would not be defeated by the romans because the inhabitants would not stop to resist – because they had the help of a magical potion...  
It was a total win because it was both a success in comic and a recover of his hurt pride. It was like a slap into the face of his still much-hated father Rome.  
"Dieu, I wish this was reality… and not for the first time."  
"Aye… Juist keep edgy that ye don't sling yer hook in thare."  
"Huh… Mmh.. but the sad thing is… this village is in the Bretagne. The Bretagne wasn't French until 1453.. …At least they're Celtic. Like you are.", he looked at the coloured pages. His next step would be to learn how to draw like this.  
"Bit ah don't huv a feathered helmet."  
"We can change that.", Francis chuckled.  
"Amurnay Bretonic."  
"…I like you Scottish better anyway. The Kilt, the bag pipe…Have you an idea how tempting you are?"  
"Nae.", Alasdair grinned mischievously, calling his words a lie.


	77. Chapter 76

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The 1960s started nearly with a loud roar of music. The Beatles had just formed a ‚boyband' in the United Kingdom and were sweeping young girls, teens, off their feet. Parents were desperate to regain control over their children and were only shaking their heads as they saw no success in their doings.  
"He loves you, yeah yeah yeah~", Francis sang along quietly. As long as Alasdair was in the other room or out of the house, the Frenchman now used the time to play songs from England – sung by the Beatles. He had no clue, but he loved their music. On the other hand he didn't want Scotland to know, because the blonde knew that Scotty would always hate his younger brother.  
And sometimes, Francis changed the lyrics to depict his love for Scotland.

Up until now it had never happened, that Alasdair had caught him unaware. Up until now…  
"...!", Francis flinched as he saw the shadow beside him. It was too late to change the vinyl disk and pretend he had listened to something French.  
"…Keep singing, wull ye?"  
"…N-non?", the blonde trembled. He always feared Alasdair's wrath. He never underestimated his power. Especially when he had been putting his head on the redheads chest in the bed… the muscles were always as hard as a rock.  
"How come nae?", Alasdair smiled that sweet (but dangerous) smile. The silence before the storm. And he was smoking again, the smoke filled the air. The redhead kneeled down beside Francis, who had switched off the record player. The Scot took out the record. "Th' Beatles… mh. Didn't ken ye wur intae Sassenach music. "

The Frenchman snatched the record from Alasdair's hands. "H-hé bien, this is new, d'accord? Nothing… world moving. This is the only thing they're good at. …Give them a chance or something, d'accord?"  
"Aye, aye… O' coorse. If 'twas mah land wha hud pat up sic music ye wid nae listen tae it."  
"…That's not true! Bring me music from Scotland and I will hear it! You have no reason to be jealous!"  
"Then how come dae ye pat it awa' sae quickly? how come dae ye scouk that frae me?"  
"Because I feared that you would make fun of it or become jealous. Silly Scotland!"  
"…In this point ah gie ye richt, fur wance. - bit ainlie fur ye scouk it frae me. Don't ye ken that in th' end ah ken everything aboot ye? Ye're mah guidwife efter a'. 'n' we've bin th'gither fur mair than 600 years."  
Francis frowned at this number. He wondered when their 666th year was. The year of the devil. He was walking around anyway – putting away the fragile records. He picked up the abacus from the table and sorted it out…. Oh great. He rolled his eyes.  
"Whit's wrong noo?"  
"Look, next year will be the devil's year.", Francis held up the abacus and read the year 1961.  
It took Alasdair to come after the thought jumps his lover had made. Then he laughed. Loud and for a pretty long time.

"Well, coming back to the actual subject…You are often so obsessive. What makes you do that? And don't go 'it's your beauty'. …No, seriously, I am not just an object that you own. …Like this calculator.", the blonde placed it back onto the table. "I want to hear the music that I like. When I like it."  
"…Dae ye think a'm usin` ye?", Alasdair looked hurt.  
"…That was pretty blunt. But…", Francis picked the abacus up again and touched the individual wooden pearls with care.

"Ugh! Th' actual reason ah cam wis this. … Ah brought th' mail up. Ye're oan holibags richt noo, bit this seems urgent.", Alasdair handed Francis a stack of letters. Some was just advertisement, but also there was job related things.  
"Merci beaucoup.", the Frenchman's attention was now drawn to the letters he opened with a metallic letter opener.  
The Scot in the meantime brought the rolls he had bought earlier into the kitchen. He had made it a habit to walk to the Boulangerie (bakery) in the morning to buy rolls, baguette or something else. At least as long as Francis was on vacation. He liked them having a morning breakfast together, which usually was not the case.  
When France was working, he slept long – and then rushed out of the house. Then he hardly managed to wish his husband a good morning.  
Alasdair said this was a very unhealthy style of living, but he could as well talk to the concrete wall.

The letter from the Élysée palace said that Francis was to say goodbye to all of his colonies. All of them. No exception. And this was only the start.  
„Quoi? … This.. this can't be real.", he whimpered. Then he crushed the letter and smacked it against the next wall. "Zhese idiots! Zhis way I could give zhem all to Angleterre right away! Go and kiss his fuckbrowed ass!"  
"Whit's noo?", Alasdair hesitantly entered the room. He didn't like when Francis was upset and throwing a tantrum. It made himself startled and upset too.  
But luckily for him, Francis broke down to tears immediately. "Zhey want me… zhey want me to give away my childree~n. Waahh~"  
The sadness infectuated the Scot ultimately and the redhead zoomed to the Frenchman and hugged him tightly. "Is thare a particular reason?", he softly patted the blonde hair.  
"Th-they said… that we should let go… that Africa has to get along without Europe. I didn't want tha~t… I told them that I wanted to have them in a French Union. Just like what England does with the 'Common Wealth'. His…his colonies are somewhat independent but are connected to England as if he's their mother. …Why can't it be like this to me? I lost so many colonies already!"

"Hm, weel… bit keek. Thare haes bin this war in Algiers. Th' fowk thare waant thair freedom. Ye o' a' fowk shuid ken this. ", he talked like with a small child.  
"B-but they were… kinda… family."  
" Ye aye kin remain fowk. They're juist like… grown up bairns or guid mukkers, richt? lik' Matha. Lik' Alfred…. Whin ye deny thair freedom, thay wull tak' it by force. 'n' a lot o' blood wull flow, then. 'n' you're nae mah wee brother."  
"…Am I such a cruel father?"  
"That's nae it.", Alasdair tried to smile patiently. „ In th' cais o' Africa… it's that thay huv ne'er bin yer bairns lik' Matha. Th' fowk staunin up fur th' states o' Africa ur a gey auld fowk. Thay huv bin thare whin oor parents juist hud bin born. That's a gey lang time. Whin ye loue thaim, gie thaim up as colonies. …You kin keep thaim as trading partners aye mibbie."  
"…That's a good idea. I think I can do that.", Francis smiled again, feeling confident again. It was not his colonies would be dying. "…You see a great deal of yourself in them, right? …You also seek your independence."  
"…Aye.", the tone in his voice was rather chilled.

Actually, two years before that had been an elections and most African Nations had wanted to stay French colonies. Yet in summer 1960, Madagascar, Mauretania, Mali, Niger, Chad, Central African Republic, Republic Congo, Gabon, Cameroon, Benin, Togo, Burkina Faso, Ivory Coast, Senegal became independent – whether they liked it or not.  
But as for Cameroon, the United Kingdom let go of it a year later. Initially, Cameroon had been a German colony, but had become Anglo-French after World War 2.  
"…The list has turned out so long. Are you sure this was right, Scotty?"  
"Aye, thay'll be braw."

In the following year, the auld alliance's "devil's year", the first human being travelled to space – of course he was Russian as Russia always seemed to be on top when it came to space travelling.  
Around the same year was also built the wall in Berlin, commanded by the Russians to cut West and East apart and to control who was going where. With this action a lot of families were separated. And the Germans had to build the wall with their own hands as well. You could say that the wall was made out of tears and blood.  
But aside from that, 1961 was a pretty normal year.

In 1962, the Soviet Union started to store Atomic bombs at the island of Cuba, thus causing the Cuba crisis. The actual crisis lasted only 13 days but made aware that the Atomic war between the Soviet Union and America could start at any given time.

In the next winter, Germany made one step further and proposed the Élysée Treaty towards France. It appeared like some kind of Alliance…Germany said it was a pact of friendship. Francis agreed as long as it would remain on the level of friendship. He could not have Alasdair being jealous over the Élysée Treaty…And it was a promise that Germany would never attack France again, even when there would be a third world war. In the first two world wars, Treaties had been ignored widely, but Germany was a rather responsible nation. He lived by the rules and laws. Stepping over one of them meant a sin.

It turned out that the 60s would become an age of revolution and equality under the labels of the French Revolution: Liberty, Equality and Fraternity.  
In the following summer, an Afro-American had the idea that dark skinned and fair skinned people should have equal rights like walking on the same pavement, visiting the same school. Simple things that might seem normal.

Now from all over the world, peace communities came together. The peace communities began to spread widely across the globe. Soon, peace conferences were also held. And not only in Vietnam and America became peace an importance because of their war they had almost 10 years now. A sense for humanity had been built ever since the Second World War, starting with the Nürnberg Trials. A sense of those what was right and not right to do with a human being. The peace communities set the rules and laws and made further steps into equality and civilisation across the world.

The next step that followed – Liberty – came only with advanced science. The pill for prevention after sexual intercourse had been invented in 1965, thus allowing to be more liberate about the subject of love. And with it changed the role of the woman in society. Before the pill, the woman had to learn to please her husband and to stand behind everything to care for the children. Now she could decide to not have children. She could go to work just like a man.

Then, a few weeks later in autumn 1965…  
"Franny… Whit urr ye daein' tae oor motor?"  
Francis was decorating their blue Ford Anglia with garlands of flowers – marguerites primarily. Actually he had further plans like putting on a peace-sign decal or flower decals, but he had decided that he wasn't good at putting decals so he hadn't even bought them.  
Alasdair and Francis owned this car now for two years. It was paid off; they could do with it whatever they wanted. And Francis had found liking in the 'hippie' movement in which love and peace was preached.  
"I'm making it pretty. Isn't it pretty? Ally, could you hold this?"  
The redhead walked over to hold the garland onto the other side, so Francis could move around with the ladder. His blonde hair was now far over shoulder length. Alba hadn't said anything about it yet.  
"Ally?"  
"When you call me 'Franny' I can fully well call you Ally. …Besides I was also on the car-check. It's ready for the trip."  
"Whit trip? how come aren't ye talking tae me?"  
"It was meant to be a surprise!", with quick movements, the garland was now firm on its place. He smiled all over his face because he knew it would melt the Scots heart. "I want us to make a road trips towards the east."

"I have taken a long time to calculate the actual points we will hit on the way… and how many kilometres it will be. It was sooo troublesome~"  
"Sae, it's a' set. …When did yi'll waant tae gang?"  
"I haven't planned that yet. Everything is still in a planning phase. But I suggested a route and made a map. I have that upstairs. Come on.", they left the garage and went upstairs where France presented Alasdair a map of their destinations. "You can still set something if you will… mark spots that you want to see. Just go ahead."  
"Och, ta. …the route is actually ferr weel. It's bonny. Bit how come Romanie 'ere?"  
„I dunno… maybe we could go see vampires."  
„ Bit th' route wull be langer this wey. Anyway, ah an' a' huv questions. Whaur dae we kip? ah mean, we did a road trip in some wey a gey lang time ago, juist efter th' 100 years' war. Back then we wur a lot younger. Noo… ah dinnae cop lik' sleeping oan th' ground. A tent wid be boggin'."  
"Ugh… Oui. How about we sleep in the car? Just for when there's no hotel or inn available."  
"Th' motor wid be tae wee. 'n' whit if there's na howf or change-hoose? ah huv a better idea, bit we'd huv tae spent a bawherr dosh. … Whin ye trust me in this ah wull gie a proper steid tae kip that we kin tak' wi' us and… it wull be juist braw. Trust me in this. Say aye 'n' I'll dae th' wirk."

Francis snorted.  
"You sound like a fairy. ‚Make a wish and I will grant it for you'."  
"Bit ah mean it."  
"…Will you at least tell me what you are up to? I also told you everything here."  
"Aye, o' coorse. Well… dae ye ken thae 'Caravans' that cam up lately? ye kin link thaim tae yer motor. It's lik' ye huv a bawherr hoose oan wheels behind yer motor. Thay come in a' sizes 'n' shapes 'n' huv different insides. Lik', kip ainlie, then an' a' a bawherr cabin fur shower, a scullery in there… whitevur yi'll waant."  
"Doesn't sound too bad. But it has to be expensive, right? And do we need an advanced license with that? What about insurance?"  
"Ah dinnae ken aboot th' license 'n' insurance pairt. Ah dinnae think we wid gang gawin` lik' that. It wid huv tae be ower wee ah jalouse. Wha kens thae roads whaur we gang to…"

"Lik' ah said, lea it tae me. At least th' financial stuff. 'n' then note doon some aspects that ur important… wull yi'll waant a scullery in it? a bedroom o' coorse - wi' separate kips or a single mattress?  
"Single mattress! …. Because I like to cuddle with you.", Francis blushed deeply. "I-if you want that… too…I guess."  
Alasdair quickly bit his lower lip to not start to go crazy about how cute his wife was at the moment. Instead he kissed Francis onto the side of his head. "…O' coorse a'm waantin' that!"

"…A kitchen would be nice.", Francis suggested.  
"Mmh. Och hauld yer horses, ah mind huvin seen a variety in a catalogue. Juist bade 'ere.", a few seconds later, Alasdair gave Francis the catalogue and they looked at it together. In the end they decided for a 'globetrotter' caravan. Francis had wanted to see the price, but Alasdair wouldn't remove his hand from there. "It wull be a bridle day gift, wee prince. 'n' ah loue tae treat ye weel. Ah don't care aboot th' cost. Ye're worth it."  
A deep red blush decorated the French cheeks. Who wouldn't like a husband like that? Francis felt uncomfortable with so much…attention that he was receiving. He had just this small idea of traveling towards the east and this was the result? On the other hand…they were married but they never mixed their finances. Francis was the one who was paying for the most things they bought. He was paying the rent of the home they had and also the gas of the car as well as the insurance for it. He went to work while Alasdair was mostly just playing his accompaniment on events and other things he had to be present as a nation. So, in the end, Alasdair would have a larger sum of money now. For to… spend it for things like this. It just had to be alright.

A few days later, most questions were solved and the two of them were ready to go. They had supplies and their clothes and other necessary thing stored in the caravan, the caravan was firmly linked to their car and the travel could start!  
For now they would just cross France, Germany, Austria. These were places close-by, places they had come to more or less the last few centuries. After that they would cross Hungary and there it would become more interesting – the food and the people would already be so different.

On driving the car they swapped places every few hours or so. And also they would take breaks. Not only for walking a few steps after the long sitting in the car but also for Alasdair to smoke a cigarette.  
Their first meal was on a rest stop somewhere close to Esslingen in Germany. They simply used their caravan for cooking and eating there. It was like they had their own little house with them everywhere. Francis praised how it was a good idea to have bought it. He still didn't ask for the price, and Alasdair didn't press on telling, but surely enjoyed the joy of his lover and the food he had cooked.  
"Let's see… howfur far huv we come. 'n' howfur far dae ye think we'll come th'day? whaur wull we kip?", Alasdair asked between two bites.  
"Mmh… We're now here.", Francis pointed at one spot on the map. "And I hope we can get down here to Austria. This will be our second border to cross. Because we're in the European Union it's quite easy to travel. I don't know if Austriche is in the EU. …I think not. But we'll also have to change the currency again."  
"Th' siller is actually ferr interesting.", Alasdair looked at one Deutsche Mark-coin. "'n' it's pleasant that thay don't charge th' roads 'ere."  
"The road pricing, ouai. But some roads in Austria are still charged. And I have no idea how the roads are after that. Or the language, or anything.", the blonde laughed nervously.  
"We wull master that… eventually. Bit this is an' a' th' stoatin' thing aboot it.", Alasdair had brought his camera to make photos from the foreign countries. What it was like there in the cities, out of the cities. He wanted to capture the impressions on a photo.

"Bit th'day we kin kip in Austrick!", Alasdair said excitingly.  
"Have you never been to Austria?"  
"Na, ne'er. Ah loue this road trip mair 'n' mair."  
"The only reason I have been to Austriche was involved in war… that wasn't too well. So now, love and peace, d'accord?", he winked. "I'm sure Austriche could be pretty in a time like this."  
"Ur thare even cuntry whaur ye haven't bin yit?"  
"Oui. Uhm… I haven't been to Serbia, Bulgaria, Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Nepal… I am not sure about India, because I have been to Cey… to Sri Lanka, the island before India. It belongs to India, yet it does not."  
"Howfur does it nae?"  
"I don't know.. mh.. I think it's like what Nova Scotia is to Canada. Dependent, yet independent? Je ne sais pas. …Are you finished?", he looked at the redhead's empty plate.

Francis had calculated that they'd needed about a week (6 days) to get to their destination. But this was false because they would take breaks after almost every two hours and then do longer breaks when they would come to points of interest. The first point but would possibly come at Hungary with the special food and the people with their costumes that would all be so much different from their home. It was like a fork in the road where things changed. There would be more forks in the road when they would leave Europe.

The couple spent their first night on a rest stop somewhere close to a city named 'Graz', in Austria. The rest stop also had a small service station and a lot of trucks were standing on the places. In between them our little caravan with Francis and Alasdair preparing for the night.  
"Would you go ask the man in the service station for water? The tank is almost empty.", Francis said as he uninstalled the tank from under the sink. They had used the water for hand washing and drinking. The Frenchman had said that Austria would also be the last country with good quality tap water. After that they would have to purchase bottles of water for drinking purpose at least.  
"Aye.", Alasdair didn't need to ask. The tank could grasp about 20 or 30 litres. For the slim Frenchman that would be too much to carry, so it was always up to the redhead.

Francis wondered why he rarely saw the older nation doing training, as he saw him walking over to the service station with the empty tank. And yet still, Alasdair was very muscular. Despite from the times of the famines, he had always been pretty strong and well-built. Francis was proud to have such a husband. It was like he owned this power, this strength as well. After all, the redhead was obeying him; they hardly had arguments in the relationship. The only arguments that had always been there was about things like who was the husband, who the wife. It all must have to do with their tolerance for the flaws. Of course, no one of them admitted that there even were flaws. But every person had flaws. It was just natural. Francis would say of himself that he was often too picky about his looks; often appeared arrogant… he was rather weak in the body. And Alasdair… well his weakness was possibly that he didn't think a lot before rushing into adventure or something. He had been like this from early childhood on.  
The Frenchman figured that these were flaws that could easily be accepted. He even loved Alasdair for being so headless when it came to danger. The redhead would for example, drop everything to rush to his safety. He, so Francis thought, was his true hero. Not that wannabe hero America. His love for Alasdair was deeper than the deepest ocean on this planet.


	78. Chapter 77

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

The morning hours of the following day brought the Franco-Scottish couple across Hungary. With the help of the tunes of Aretha Franklin's 'Respect' they left hundreds of miles behind them.

The sun was shining over the Balaton they had left behind them.  
They had spent their morning along with some Hungarian farmers. Hungary herself had even shown up as she had sensed the two men coming. Elizaveta always knew who was trespassing. Despite the peaceful times after the world wars she was well on her guard.  
But to the couple she was friendly as they were friendly to her and came in interest for her culture.  
She had showed them a little around, then they had eaten a traditional Hungarian breakfast consisting of bread or toast, butter, eggs, cream, goat cheese, beef tongue, bacon and other rich ingredients together. Alasdair had loved the Hungarian breakfast as there was so plenty of everything. Francis on the other hand had hardly eaten anything. He didn't like having too much on his belly.

But there were also good things to drink and Francis had fallen in love with the wine that was offered there.  
"Ahh… this wine is so delicious… so sweet."  
"I know right?", Elizaveta cheered proudly. "…but when you want more you have to pay lots."  
Francis looked shocked.  
"B-but we're only traveling through… I don't plan on to buy something for home."  
"Mmh? Tell me about your journey. Where will you go?"  
"Towards India. I might bring a souvenir for you, if you want. We'll need to pass through your beautiful country once again on the retour.", Francis said with a gentle smile.  
"…You can't fool me, France. The wine will be expensive."  
"Zut… dammnit."  
"…We will come again.", Alasdair said with a relaxed smile.

After the song 'respect' came a song by the Beatles and Francis turned the radio louder. He had come to love their songs. And he wasn't sure but he thought that the UK siblings had just the right amount to be like them. The Beatles were four people, the United Kingdom consisted of four nations. But he wasn't sure who was who. He had heard England singing so what if he was Paul McCartney?  
France would never share these thoughts with Alasdair as the redhead would either laugh about it (since he was also one of the four) or he would be mad and very angry at his 'wife'.

After coming close to Budapest, their route went southwards in a gently and wide curve, towards Serbia.  
Neither of the two had known the nation, the language or the currency. It was a new experience to both of them. Who was Serbia? Would they get to meet him? Was it even a guy or a girl? They had missed out on asking Hungary about it.  
Serbia was a nation within Yugoslav and therefore had the Yugoslavian Dinar as the currency.

It was evening when they reached Serbia. Alasdair and Francis decided to have their dinner in Serbian style.  
"It's kind of strange to have that, non? Breakfast in Hungarian, Dinner in Serbian."  
"Aye. That's… that's gallus. Ah wonder whit they're cooking wi'."  
To have actual Serbian style they had to leave the larger roads and drive into one of the smaller cities and had to pick one of their restaurants.

By now, people looked up from their tables as they saw a tall redhead person entering a room. In this land, redheads were very unusual. Weren't the Scottish not the people with the most redheads, so the redheads were rarer up to non-existent on other parts of the world, like here in Serbia. And the further the couple would go east, the more unusual it was.  
Francis stumbled into the warm Restaurant after Scotland, who seemed to be either intimidated or confused. Or both.  
"…Good evening.", Francis started with English. Most people would know English… on the conference days. As nations. Okay, this was stupid. Not the whole world spoke English. He, Republique Française, had worked fairly against that. But he doubted that they would either know Scottish gaelic, French, German or any other language they spoke.  
There was but one thing that spoke through everything…

The Frenchman grabbed Alasdair by the wrist and dragged him to a niche where they could sit on a table. Seeing that his lover had a plan, Alba trusted him on this and kept quiet and even relaxed a bit.  
Francis put money onto the table. A few Dinars.  
And this language obviously spoke well. A Waiter came and asked them for what they wanted… in Serbian language. But with hand and feet or something they managed to get at least something to drink first.  
Francis thought about getting pen and paper to express his thoughts towards, as one of the shadows from the other tables came towards their table.  
With heavy accent, the young man spoke: "So… you're new here. How long you stay?"  
"…", Francis opened his mouth, his head full of questions. Alasdair said something instead. "Wur juist gawin` thro'. …What is th' oor country dish o' Serbia?"

The Serbian smiled. He could have been in his 20s, had short brown hair and determined eyes. "I say you eat Pljeskavica. It's good."  
Before they could ask further questions, the young Serbian was gone.  
About 20 minutes later they had the dish in front of them. And it looked so delicious. There was a huge slice of meat - well done – slices of potatoes and a spicy sauce. A very spicy sauce.  
Alasdair liked it (like he seems to like any kind of food), while it was burning inside Francis' mouth and killing so many taste buds it made the poor Frenchman cry. It became even worse when he tried to put out the fire in his mouth with the glass of water.

"It appears that th' fairn is getting spicier th' mair East we come.", Alba was happy and drank from his glass of water as it didn't seem to affect him at all.  
"…Oui.", Francis thought about the Hungarian milk they had bought on the last service station. It was in the fridge of their caravan. But he bore with this need until they were both ready to leave.

They hadn't seen the young man that had helped them so much again. Francis suggested that he was representing either the town they were in or all of Serbia. He could feel that. And it would make sense because he had been able to speak a little English.  
They spent the night in the little town, but a little off in their caravan, so the townspeople wouldn't feel bothered by them.  
In the time before slumber would come, they talked about the day they had experienced and the day that was to come. The blonde loved this evening hours – or minutes. They had taken them since they had been married. It had become a ritual.  
Francis listened to the outside noise… the wind that was whistling around their caravan and car, some cows that were in the distance, with their dog that was barking. It was still early springtime, so there was no sound yet of the cicadas he was assuming to live here as well.  
The first time Alasdair had been so much south that the cicadas had sang their endless song, he had been irritated. He had wanted them to shut up.

In the next morning they started with a smaller breakfast. They still had a long way to go after all.  
On the way they saw other hippies driving along the road. But the roads were mostly free from traffic jam.  
They left the Serbian capital Belgrad behind them and soon came towards Bulgaria. Francis knew that Bulgaria had been a member of the Axis Power.  
But it was afternoon again before they could even reach the border to Bulgaria and wondered whether to stop for a nap.

"Th' road is sportin' me oot.", Alasdair said, and blew a blue cloud of smoke into the air. They were sitting inside the Caravan on a rest stop a few miles before the border. But they were tired for now.  
"I could… drive too. I haven't done anything. .. We could just go as far as crossing the border and find the next stop. There won't be anything big after the border anyway. So it's not like we have to see it in daylight absolutely."  
"…Thay days ur getting langer an' a'.", Alba muttered.  
"So, I can drive us a little further, okay?"  
"Whit? …No, ye don't huv tae. We said that we wouldn't stowed ourselves. Tak' oor time …"  
"…", Francis sighed. Sometimes he had the feeling that he was unable to do the simplest things. He stifled a yawn, too tired to start an argument with Alasdair. "Then we go tomorrow…"

The next morning, Bulgaria awaited them. Again, they had to change their currency. From Serbian Dinar to Bulgarian Lev. Usually, their money would increase in value as the eastern nations weren't as wealthy as France, but they had to notice that Bulgaria was a little wealthier than Serbia. They didn't know why, and they didn't want to know why either, because they still were on a kind of vacation.  
"I wonder if there are nations that are poorer than me.", Alasdair said with a nostalgic voice. He was now not steering the wheel, Francis was driving the car.  
"I'm sure that a lot of other nations are poorer than you. They don't have me as their lover."  
The redhead laughed softly. "That's right."

France turned on the radio and was welcomed by good music. Music had become quite important in both their lives. It was almost unbearable without music. This time it was Carlos Santana with his neat guitar play that would fill the wide plains that were surrounding them.  
It had become a lot warmer now that they were getting more south. They had to wear less. Partially it was already so warm for the Scot that he was wearing nothing but his Kilt and some shoes. The look was making Francis a hungry wolf. Francis however was rather wearing a tank top and shorts or ripped jeans along with sandals. At times like this he regretted not having shaved the past days. His beard was fully developed, just like Alasdairs.

In Bulgaria they ate some Shishcheta, sticks that were with onions, paprika, meat and bacon. Both found them very delicious. Francis said that he could in fact make such sticks at home.  
Upon going towards the capital they debated whether to cross it or drive around. It was not easy to navigate the car along with the caravan.  
"If you want, I can take over in that part. We just have to take a break before that."  
"…it's too late.", a pale Frenchman reported. "There are no stops anymore. …And we can't go around it. We took too long to think about it.  
But this was only a part truth. In truth, Francis had sit it out. He wanted some more challenge on this. And now they were driving through a city during their rush hour with a caravan behind them. There sure was cars and caravans on earth that were larger and harder to handle, but soon enough Francis was soaked in sweat. He was more than happy to have left it behind him and still got the right direction with Alasdair's help.

"Hahaha~ I did it!", the blond proudly said after they had left Sofia behind them. In the south of the capital was a larger lake on which they had stopped… actually this passage should have led them further away from the city, but Francis had spontaneously braked here and parked Car and caravan near the lake. "I beat this cityyy~"  
"Mmh..", Alasdair grinned but was unsure if to praise his wife. It had happened a few times that Francis had shortly been before colliding with another car or even bicycle. The Scot was now sweat soaked as well.

Francis decided to walk right into the Pancharevo – with his clothes on. Alasdair followed him hesitantly. As the water was to his hips, his Kilt floated somewhat on top of the water.  
"Ahahahaha, sheep wool soaks water badl-eep!?", Francis couldn't stop laughing. But he had to as he slipped and accidentally drowned. There it was Alasdair's turn to laugh.

The Scotsman's laugh faded when Francis didn't turn up anymore. Despite the clear water he couldn't see him either. Then he felt something beneath his Kilt and squeaked. "France!"  
Alasdair grabbed the Frenchman from under his Kilt and forced him up. "Ye cannae dae that!"  
"Ahahaha~", he snorted water out of his mouth and laughed. "You saw that I could! …You're so beautiful down there."  
Alasdair blushed beet red underneath his beard. If he continued to be like that there would be nothing on his head that was not red. Francis immediately took advantage of that and dunked the redhead under water. But not for long so he would drown.

The splashing in the water was very refreshing and much needed. After having swam a round in the lake, they went back to their caravan (yes, the car is also still there).  
"I'm not going in there with my dripping clothes. I don't want half of the lake in there."  
"…Ye shuid huv pult aff afore, then?"  
"Mh… Yea, but we couldn't wash our clothes for the past three or four days and we're running out of fresh clothes.", Francis pondered a little. Then he simply took off all of his clothes. Right when a few cars drove by. Hippies with their cars. And some just got the same idea and stopped their cars and smaller busses (VW Bus) and got out to bathe in the lake.  
"Francis!", the Scot hissed very stressed and tried to cover the naked Frenchman before him.  
Francis in the meantime just calmly squeezed the water out of his back long hair and hung the wet clothes over the open door of the caravan for now. "What's the matter, Alas?"  
" Fowk! thay kin see ye! noo git in thare this instant!", he roughly shoved Francis into the caravan and stalked behind him immediately, not caring if he was bringing wet and dirt into their mobile home.

Francis, on the other hand, squeaked immediately because of his careless husband. "At least take off your shoes! You make it all dirty. Do you know who will this clean up? It's me!"  
Alasdair growled and fumbled quickly, bringing in the wet clothes of Francis so he could close the door. Luckily, the curtains inside were all drawn. He took off his Kilt and shoes and halted in his motions for a moment, thinking. Then he brought their clothes into the smallest room inside the caravan in which they also had their makeshift sanitary.  
"Urr ye a'richt noo? we wull bade 'ere 'til freuch …", since Alasdair still found it a little too warm, he opened skylight. Then his gaze stopped at Francis who looked – despite the grown beard – like a goddess as he was sorting out his long golden hair and starting to braid several strands into it.  
"Cuid ye dae me a favour…? wance we come hame. Back tae Paris. Cuid ye tak' aff th' fluff bit keep th' lang locks?", the Scot almost struggled.  
"Mh?", the Frenchman looked up from his hair. Then he knowingly smiled. "Oui, of course."

Not much later, everyone could see how the caravan bobbed up and down.


	79. Chapter 78

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.  
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.  
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

As soon as the couple was dry, dressed and also had eaten a bit, they carried on, on their way towards the east.  
In the early evening they reached the border to Turkey, the border to Asia more or less. A lot of people said that Turkey was both on Europe and Asia, and that the actual parting found place in Istanbul. Yet, Turkey had never been part of Europe politically.  
And the radio also didn't offer western music really… Soon, the couple was slightly taken aback, or rather annoyed and used tape with their favourite music.  
"We will drive a rather long way through Turkey. It is a large state. It will be at least two days.", Francis announced. They had just turned their Bulgarian Lev into Turkish lirası.

It didn't take long until they reached the famous capital Istanbul with its large buildings, the mosque's and it all looked so impressive. And already, a lot of Hippies from the west had found their way here.  
"Well.. despite from the Muslims being our former enemies and all… I kind of like it here.", Francis said with a lowered voice.  
Francis and Alasdair had parked their caravan somewhere off to visit the city properly, since it was so large and heavy on historical events. It had changed its name several times as well as its confession. But for now, the inhabitants rather glared at every visitor. At least so it appeared to Francis. "…They seem to hate us."  
"Psh, it only looks like that. … What do you want to do first?", Alasdair smiled.  
"Mmh… I don't.. let's see!", Francis looked over the city from where they were standing – on some hill on the edge of the city. Houses were everywhere, large and small over the place. The whole city seemed to be like an arena, coming from up in the hills and going down to the Bosporus River that parted the city and roughly streamed from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean Sea. It was such a beautiful view.

"There we have the Turkish bath… the Bazar. I would like to see inside a Mosque. It's a sacrilege to go inside one when you are Christian… but I'm so curious. It would be best when we cover ourselves.. buy veils in the Bazar and then go for the Mosque. No one must see our hair colour."  
"Our eye colour could also be a problem…", Alasdair sighed. "….I know that you have been wanting to visit a Mosque for some time. So I guess we try it?"  
"This is not just any mosque. It's the Hagia Sophia! A long time ago it has been a catholic church.", Francis explained excitedly.  
"I didn't say that it wasn't okay…"  
"Then let's go. But to the Bazar first!"

The couple strived through the Bazar, looking at the large offers they saw there. And they weren't standing out this much. There was so many other hippies, also looking for souvenirs, for food – at the Bazar you could get anything.  
Alasdair looked at a Shisha pipe and wondered what that was good for. The Seller talked in heavily accented English to him, explaining that it was some kind of water pipe with different flavours to smoke. Ah, that was nice. The Scot had smoked a lot in his life… Cigarettes, Cigars, pipe. And he wondered if France would like the smell of the Shisha. The merchant said that even non-smokers could use the Shisha with no bad side effects.  
Aye, Alasdair had wondered why Francis would never smoke with him in the first place… He had never asked him or offered him a cigarette. Possibly because he still saw a young kid in the southern Nation?

France in the meantime was looking for garments. He was amazed at the good quality of the veils. And some of them were weaved ever so thin to see through. And still not a single flaw in the texture. He was going to purchase a few metres from this cloth, and a few of this. He would make himself look like a princess from 1001 nights or something. Oui, the redhead would love that. Certainly. And other kinds of garments? No need for that. He could still purchase the 'common' clothes and cloths to sew at home back in Paris. Or in Edinburgh when they decided to move. .. And they moved around a lot in these times. It was weird. Back then they moved from Scotland to France and the other way around only every hundred years and now it was a lot quicker.

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around the Frenchman. And they were not Scottish.  
"Kyaaa!"  
"Oy, calm down, Fransa!", a deep male voice said. It was a masked man.  
"Wh-who the hell are you?", Francis looked very disturbed and tried to move away from the stranger. And in a split second, Alasdair stood behind Francis and glared daggers into the Turkish man.  
"You don't recognise me? That hurts… even from you.", the Turkish man took a piece of cloth and held it before his mouth like a veil.  
The blonde French gasped. "Y-you… you are… that… Ottoman Empire!"  
"Don't scream so loud." Sadiq Adnan dropped the makeshift veil.  
"Th' Ottoman Empire?", Alasdair repeated in disbelief. But he also recognised the former Ally of the Kingdom of France. The Alliance between them had ended sometime during the 19th century.  
"Call me Sadiq. …You are Hippie Tourists, aren't you?", the Turkish nation grinned under the mask.  
The couple nodded.

Neither of them could link the tall veiled, mysterious man from back then with the happy yet a little stocky man before them.  
"It has been too long, eh?", Francis smiled at his former alliance partner. "I hope you are not mad because the alliance had ended?"  
"Hayır, not at all. Everything has come to an end, right? So you're here to see my beautiful capital? You found the right person to go with!"  
"I had hoped so, because I absolutely wanted to see the mosque 'Hagia Sophia'.", it was just the chance to get in and out of there without any trouble. Alasdair snorted.  
Sadiq but hesitated and looked at them. Through the mask no one could see what he was thinking.  
"…Ho-kay then, let's go!"

Sadiq showed them around most places on their way from the Bazar to the Hagia Sophia.  
Before the mosque they had to wash their feet. The inner prayer room's floor was decorated with carpet. Sadiq explained that this was how they prayed: On their knees, ready to bow down. And to make it less rough or outwearing, there was enough carpet for everyone.  
Francis tried to look like he was paying attention but his attention was soon drawn towards the ceiling and other structures. He wanted to know if there were still signs that this had been a church… but he couldn't find any.  
Sadiq also explained that they soon had to leave the Mosque as it was time for the evening prayer.  
"I'm sorry, I can't lead you outside at that time. I have to join the prayers too.", he said with a smile.  
"No problem.", Alasdair said. "Is there a place where you could tell us… where we could eat a little?"  
"Sure. There are a lot of supermarkets up there.", Sadiq pointed into a direction. Francis' gaze followed his aim. "Some of them might be closed during the prayers. When you hurry you can still get something. …You have your caravan to use, right? We'll meet tomorrow… tomorrow at noon right here, okay?"

It was unthinkable to go to a restaurant during the prayers. And to Francis and Alasdair the whole city seemed to be endlessly in prayer. Once the Muezzin – the vocal prayer that shouted or sang his prayers from one of the towers of the mosque or mosque's had ended his litany, the next one would start.  
The foreigners had to hurry.

About quarter an hour later they sat, well Alasdair sad and watched Francis cooking dinner, in their caravan. The light in the Caravan was just dim but Francis had no problems seeing what he was doing. "Dinner will be ready soon.", it was simple pancakes on this evening. But no matter what France did, they always turned out to be thin, but original French crêpes. "I swear, if we wouldn't go out eating on our journey all we would have was French or Scottish meals."  
"Aye. Ah wonder what's th' oor country dish o' Turkey. Ah mean, it can't be a turkey… 'n' in atween a' o' thair praying 'n' whatnot thay'll huv tae sloch tae. Thare haes tae be something."  
"We should ask Sadiq.", Francis chuckled as he set one plate in front of Alasdair and one on his own place. "…I really love this atmosphere, when we are traveling. It's so romantic. Did you take any photos yet."  
"Aye, ah did. Mah camera is a'maist stowed oot awready. Guid, that ye say it… A'll huv tae chaynge th' camera's picture."

The next day, the three nations met before the Hagia Sophia. It was easy to find for the two foreigners. After all, Istanbul was pretty messy with all the buildings and the city maps were hard to read for those who didn't understand this curlicue writings.

On the way to the Hagia, the Auld Alliance couple had managed to grab some breakfast snack: flatbread.  
"Good, you made it. Today I want to show you the other side of the city. The Asian side! We don't have larger bridges yet, so you have to use a ferry. Are you two going to cross this place or is this the end of your route?"  
"We wantae gang tae India."  
"Ah, then you better bring your Caravan to the ferry."

The nations walked back to where the couple had left their caravan. It was soon ready for traveling again. Alasdair was then sitting behind the wheel, Sadiq sat next to him and Francis was behind them. The Turkish man had insisted on sitting in the front to make it easier to make it to the docks. After all, to European eyes it was just havoc that was on the streets of Istanbul. The two wouldn't have made it without the help of Sadiq.  
On the ferry itself it was amazing to see the Bosporus that marked the line between two continents.  
"What's in the north to that?"  
"It's the Black Sea… and further North was… Ukraine, I think.", Sadiq said. He was entirely proud of showing them around. "Over there I will show you the Turkish bath. And maybe that Pudding shop…A lot of you Hippies seem to like it."  
"…Weel, yesterday we asked ourselves what's th' oor country dish o' Turkey."  
"There is no such thing… we have a lot of things that are famous. Like Lahmacun or Doner. And even those things are different in every region that you will find. I guess it has to do with the history of this place. First, it has been called 'Byzantine', then it was 'Constantinople'… just like I was the Ottoman Empire, now I am simply the Republic of Turkey."

Finally they arrived on the Asian coast. For Alasdair it was the first time on this continent. The only two continents he had been before had been Europe and America.  
"Pure Francis…Wi' ye ah travel th' hail world.", he thoughtfully said.  
"Only with you I would want to travel to the end of it.", Francis replied with a dreamy look. He had been to Asia back in the times when the first French sailing ships tried to establish a trading route from India, Ceylon to France. The trading route had rather failed… but it had been an unforgettable adventure.

They left their Caravan on the other edge of the city. The Asian part of Istanbul didn't look so strange for now. Then, Sadiq led them to a Turkish bath.  
The first step was to get almost naked. The towels there were checkered. So even after changing, Alasdair looked like he was wearing a regular Kilt. He even had folded that thing into a Kilt form…Francis laughed at this.  
"Mon Dieu… I'm sorry… hahaha… you're simply.. haha.. amazing, Écosse!"  
"Whit's it?", the tall redhead asked annoyed.  
"You made a Kilt from your towel. .. I love that."

"Would you follow me now? I bet you have seen each other in a towel often enough."  
"Non, never.", Francis said sarcastically and grinned like an idiot.

The whole thing started off with a full body massage for the two of them. They had to lie down on a large marble table in the centre of a large room, of which the table was also heated from the inside.

Then had to sit in an alcove in which there was a sink and then they were splashed with warm or hot water. Alasdair had to get used to the hot water, since he was a rather cold nation. He felt uncomfortable. Francis tried his best to help him relax. "I guess.. it's better when it is just the two of us.", he said to Sadiq. "It appears to be a very bodily experience after all…"  
"Oh yea. It's alright. Just let me help you with the instructions. You can also use one of the smaller rooms over there."  
The Turk gave Francis a kind of mitten with which to scrub the skin. Then there was a softer mitten with which rich foam could be applied. After that one would feel the cleanest ever.

"Whit aboot ye?", Alasdair asked. Through the steam his red hair appeared even more red and his green eyes looked like moss.  
"I had hoped you would just return that to me? ..Since.. you wouldn't allow no one to touch me?", Francis pursed his lips.  
"Mmh.. O' coorse.", he smiled warily, which then turned into a devilish grin. "…A'll rub yer skin aff!"

Francis was slammed onto the warmed plate and Alasdair started right off with the rough mitten to rub off Francis' back and legs. Now that they were in the alcove the Scot didn't care and even yanked the towel off the blonde's hips to scrub him all over, no matter how much protest was thrown at him. As Alasdair had finished, he simply flipped him over like a piece of dough. … The towel found its way back to cover the place between the French legs, but the redhead didn't stop. He seemed to have the fun of his life. "We shuid dae that at hame mair often tae …"  
"Gah… stobbit. … it's your turn now. Lay down here."  
Alasdair obeyed and lied down as soon as Francis had made room for him, but the smirk across his face remained.  
The Frenchman looked down on himself, everywhere the skin was red. "I swear to god…"

Now the Frenchman's turn was to torture the redhead. The skin soon reddened soon, after all he was the pale kind of person that would never get a tan. But Alasdair just kept laughing, taunting the Frenchman who rubbed furiously with the mitten. He even tried the mitten on himself. It /was/ the rough one. "Just you…"  
"Wahahaha~ Ye're juist sae cute whin ye huv a go tae be pure tough."  
Francis snarled and strengthened his efforts.

The fun part was when Francis covered his husband in foam. The Scot was a lot more sensitive to the soft mitten and started to squirm beneath the hands of the Frenchman. "Hey, do you think I should have started with this?"  
The reply was a stifled snort. Francis giggled and held one of Alasdair's ankles to scrub the soles of his feet properly. The foot was drawn away quickly and the redhead cowered, tried to form a ball. "You silly Scotsman, your feet will remain dirty."  
"Ah don't care.", came a whimpered reply. "Juist lea thaim alone. ... It's yer caw."  
Francis giggled and flopped on the warm stone bench as Alasdair had moved… The Scot started to make this so smooth just as much as he had been rough in the session before that. At the same time, he also massaged the tense muscles of his lover. The Frenchman moaned unwanted during this procedure. And by the end of it he had dozed off.


End file.
